The Christmas Stranger
by Luvvycat
Summary: On their first Christmas Eve in Port Royal, young Elizabeth and Will embark on a clandestine mission of charity and end up facing danger, budding young love, and a certain down-on-his-luck sea captain in need of hope. Rated T for mild adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

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_**Author's Note** - This is a six-part story I wrote for GeekMama for last year's Black Pearl Sails Secret Santa on LiveJournal (and, due to life circumstances that impeded my ability to devote time to writing, only just completed in time for THIS Christmas)! _

_This tale is set during young Will and Elizabeth's first Christmas in Port Royal, though there are other familiar characters (both named and incognito) that you will recognise from PotC canon..._

_As ever, Reviews are highly valued and heartily encouraged!_

_Ta, and Enjoy!_

_- Cat_

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**- Part One -**

Will watched surreptitiously through the terrace windows of the great house as the guests arrived for the Governor's holiday ball. Elizabeth—as the "lady of the house"—dutifully stood at her father's side to greet each new arrival. She was clad head to toe in holiday finery, as befitted the daughter of the Royal Governor of Jamaica: honey-coloured brocade with velvet trim of chocolate brown and dark gold braid, a creamy froth of ecru lace cascading from each elbow-length sleeve, her hair upswept and held in place with a perfectly matched pair of mother-of-pearl combs, artfully-arranged ringlets tumbling down to frame her pretty face.

He watched and waited until the hall grew crowded, and guests started spilling out onto the terrace, before retreating to the shadows. He well knew Elizabeth's disdain and impatience for such functions—this holiday fete being not a gathering of family and friends, but rather an opportunity to dazzle and impress the cream of Port Royal society—and wagered that it wouldn't be long before she begged off and sought the sanctuary of her own room, eager for the sight of a friendly face and the company of someone her own age.

Will hid in the shadows and waited until he saw the light come up in Elizabeth's room before scaling the trellis. The music from the open terrace doors drifted up to him—a string quartet, from the sound of it—the sound of laughter and holiday gaiety mingling with the lilting strains of a minuet.

As he tapped upon her window, he pondered how strange it was, for it to be Christmas Eve and warm as summer! In England, Decembers were cold and often snowy, the air brittle with frost that tweaked the nose and numbed the fingers and could only be staved off with woollen mufflers, heavy coats (if one was fortunate enough to possess such) and blazing hearth fires. There was, for Will, something quite unnatural about spending the Yuletide—his first in the Caribbean—caressed by balmy breezes heady with the scent of tropical flowers!

His thoughts fractured as the window was yanked open from inside, and he quickly scrambled into the room. With all the awkwardness of a boy on the cusp of fourteen, not yet accustomed to legs that had grown six inches in as many months, he caught his foot on the sill, and landed in a graceless sprawl upon the floor.

"Will!" Elizabeth cried, hurrying to help him to his feet.

She had looked lovely enough from afar, but standing here, so close, she simply took his breath away!

She laughed as he sprang to his feet and dusted himself down. "I'm so glad to see you, Will! I was hoping you'd come up for a visit!"

He felt his cheeks flush pink with pleasure. He found himself doing that a lot lately in her presence, and it mystified him, for he wasn't sure exactly what had changed between them. She was the same Elizabeth Swann who had saved him from the sea—his best friend, since that day—and he was the same Will Turner. An immediate bond had been forged between them; both motherless children, their camaraderie had been borne of shared tragedy and the similarity in their ages. But some subtle, intangible metamorphosis had taken place within him in recent months, along with the gradual deepening of his voice and the lengthening of his limbs.

Suddenly, her smile wasn't just a smile, it was the sun shining upon him, warming him inside and out. The sound of her laughter was like the trilling of silver bells, musical, delightful. And the merest touch of her hand, the sweet regard of her dark amber eyes had the power to make his heart flutter with joy, and tie his tongue into knots.

"How's the party?" he asked.

She winced. "Oh, much the same as it was for my last birthday. No-one near my age, mostly my father's associates and acquaintances, the rest—let's see, what did the Lieutenant call them?" She stood ramrod-straight, hands clasped behind her back, nose in the air and, lowering her voice, affected a very close approximation of Norrington's cool, mellifluous upper-class accent, "—'toad-eating sycophants, seeking to curry the Governor's favour.' "

He laughed, both at her spot-on impersonation of the Lieutenant, and the sentiment expressed. "That bad, eh?"

She sighed deeply, and the look in her eyes threatened to melt his heart. "Oh, Will. It's not like it was, when Mother was alive! Mother and Father had so many good friends back in England. And Christmas was always Mother's favourite holiday! Father said that her parties were the envy of every hostess in London! She was the very Spirit of Christmas!"

Her eyes lost focus as her mind went back to what were, no doubt, happier times. "I can just remember that last Christmas Eve ball, at the London house. I wasn't allowed to attend, of course—I had only just turned five. But I stole away to watch from the top of the stairs as the guests arrived." A gentle, nostalgic smile lit her features. "All the ladies, in the most beautiful gowns—satin and velvet and lace in most every colour imaginable! And not only the ladies, the gentlemen too, looking so handsome and elegant in their perfectly-tailored coats and powdered wigs!" As her expression grew enraptured at the visions in her head, so did Will's at the vision before him. She was, truly, the prettiest creature he'd ever seen.

"And Mother! Holding court like a grand duchess, in a gown of silver and midnight blue, drifting among the guests!" She fingered the jewelled necklace hanging round her throat, the centrepiece of which was a delicate, carved ivory cameo. "The hair-combs, and this necklace … she wore them that night." She sighed, dreamily. "She looked just like an angel, descended from Heaven! Glittering, like moonlight on water. Ethereal…"

She sighed again, and her voice quavered slightly as she continued, "Little did we know then that Heaven would call her back so soon. She died that summer."

The melancholy look on her face called to a similar sadness in him, and he took her hand, squeezing it in sympathy. She sniffed, and returned the squeeze before looking back up at him. "Tell me about your mother."

"Well, as I've told you, my father was absent for most of my life, which is not at all uncommon, I understand, for those who make their life and livelihood at sea. His visits were few and far between, but sometimes he would send money back home to Mum, which she tried to make stretch as long as possible. Even then, we never had very much. Barely enough to get by, I suppose. But I never wanted for anything—except for a full-time father, of course—though I suspect Mum often went without, to make sure I had what I needed.

"Naturally, our annual Christmas celebration was a bit more … humble," he said, dropping his gaze, for some reason embarrassed to admit such to her. He did not want her to think that he was taking her to task, for the accident of birth that made her rich, and he poor. "Mum would save all year … set aside pennies from the sewing she took in, whatever she could afford to put aside, once our daily needs were met." He smiled in fond remembrance. "And each year, there would be a Christmas goose—a small one, but a goose nevertheless!—and plum pudding, and mince pie." He laughed with a small hint of bitterness, thinking of the elegant, truly bacchanalic spread below. "Lord, we thought it the most lavish feast imaginable!"

When he looked back up, Elizabeth's expression had softened, eyes suspiciously bright and liquid in the glow of her bedside candle. She came and slipped her small hands into his. "Oh, Will …" she near-whispered. "How terrible of me … nattering on about our Christmas riches, and wonderful parties, and the bounty of our own table, when you've had to go without. What must you think of me?"

He tilted her face up to his, his eyes staring earnestly into hers. "Please don't feel sorry for me, Elizabeth. It was not an unhappy life. And I couldn't have had a better mother than I had, whether pauper or aristocrat."

She said, gently, "And this is your first Christmas without her."

His smile held a trace of sadness. "Yes."

"And you miss her, terribly."

He had to force the word out past the sudden lump in his throat. "Yes."

Her arms stole around his waist, and she lay her head upon his chest with a deep, trembling sigh. "Me, too. I don't think you ever stop missing people you love, no matter how long has passed. It's been near eight years since I lost my mother, and I still miss her."

His hand hovered above her head, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her hair. It seemed too … forward. Too intimate a gesture for him to make, despite their close friendship. So he waited until she pulled away, and, clearing his voice, went on.

"There's one other small tradition Mum insisted on, every Christmas. To celebrate another year of our good fortune, Mum said it was only proper and charitable to share such bounty with one even less fortunate than ourselves. She would find someone alone and in need—someone with no home, no family, no friends with which to spend Christmas, and invite him or her to our house to share our Christmas Eve dinner." At her widened eyes, Will laughed. "Oh, never fear. Mum, as it turned out, was quite an excellent judge of character. We never had a lick of trouble with anyone she chose, and each stranger she brought home left with much more than they had when they arrived. A full belly, the gift of pleasant company … and, perhaps most valuably, a heart full of hope."

Elizabeth's eyes were shining. "Oh, Will! What a lovely thing for her to do!" Then her face lit up with inspiration. "Will? Why don't we do the same? Carry on your mother's tradition?"

He was stunned. "What?"

Her face became even more animated as enthusiasm for her idea gripped her. "We could go into town, find someone lost, and alone, and in need!"

"Elizabeth, don't be daft! Your father would never permit—"

"We don't have to tell Father! We'll just steal away… The party is likely to go on for hours yet, and Father will be busy with his guests. Why, we'd be back before anyone even noticed that we're gone! We could prepare a basket … there's plenty downstairs, no one would miss, say, a few bottles of wine, some food and sweets."

Will still balked. "I don't know, Elizabeth… How would you be able to keep it from him? What if someone recognises you? Word is bound to get back to him…"

"Then I'll go in disguise. I'll wear a cloak. The hood will hide my face. And we can even use assumed names!" She smiled mischievously at him. "You can be 'Walter', and I shall be 'Bess'!"

Will couldn't help grinning at Elizabeth's reference to one of their favourite games of make-believe, inspired by the books of history she was fond of reading, in which he took the role of the gallant Sir Walter Raleigh, and she his liege and lady, the good Queen Bess…

She grasped his arm, and looked up into his face, positively glowing with excitement. "Oh, Will! Please! I really, _really _want to do this! Consider it a tribute to your mother … and to mine!"

Of course, when she was looking at him like that, how could he refuse?

"All right …" he said, with great reluctance. "But you're to stay close to me, understand? It's after dark, and not safe for a young lady to be out walking alone. And we _both _have to agree upon the person we choose…" Sheltered as she was, he was keenly aware of the danger she might be putting herself into. And he liked to believe he had inherited his mum's uncanny judge of character. He wouldn't let Elizabeth select anyone … inappropriate.

"Of course!" she practically squealed in delight, threw her arms around his neck in a brief but enthusiastic hug, and spun toward the door. "I'll go fetch a hamper, and my cloak! Meet me downstairs!" She gave a rather wicked smile. "Then we'll mount a raid on the kitchens and the banquet table!"

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_**A/N **- Please remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan writer's wish list! :-)_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

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**- Part Two -**

Less than an hour later found them, on foot, heading down into the heart of Port Royal, Will weighted down with a rather sizeable hamper of food, while Elizabeth toted a basket of select bottles plundered from the holiday table. The bright light of the moon overhead, just a few days past full, lit their way, casting a silvery glow over all.

She slanted a sidelong glance at the hamper, eyeing it sceptically. "Do you think we have enough?"

"Enough!" Will grunted, shifting his burden slightly. "I hardly think we could carry any more! At least, not without enlisting the aid of a horse and carriage!"

She grinned in delight. "But just think of the wonderful surprise it will be for some poor, unfortunate soul!"

* * *

Finding said poor, unfortunate soul turned out to be considerably harder than either of them thought.

The first likely candidate for their largesse was a thin, underdressed woman loitering near one of Port Royal's many taverns, tattered, threadbare shawl draped round her naked shoulders, who eyed them with open suspicion as he and the cape-swathed Elizabeth drew nearer.

Will hesitated. He had no idea whatsoever how his mother had handled identifying and recruiting their annual dinner guest, but at Elizabeth's whispered prompting, and the push of her palm against his back, Will sighed and put down the hamper. Approaching the woman, he doffed his tricorne respectfully and bowed at the waist.

"Beg pardon, ma'am, but … er…" He glanced back at Elizabeth, recalling her words, earlier, "… are you lost, alone, and in need?"

Her sharp, knowing eyes raked him from below lowered, painted lids. "Ain't ya a bit young to be askin' after a lady's needs, dearie?" Her rouged lips spread in a grin as she gave him a brazen wink, and flicked the fringe of her shawl at him dismissively. "But come back in a couple years, when ya got hair on yer face and coin in yer pocket, and maybe I c'n teach ya a few things." Her gaze skittered sideways, where a man had emerged, staggering, from the tavern, and was now weaving in their direction. She adjusted her shawl downward and her breasts upward, putting her powdered bosom more prominently on display, and jerked her head to one side, her face twisting in mild annoyance as she hissed between crooked teeth, "Now, run along, there's a good lad, and take yer li'l sister wit' ya. Can't have kids hangin' about, can I, whilst I'm tryin' to conduct me business? Ye'll scare away all me customers!"

Blushing furiously, Will mumbled an apology, and beat a hasty retreat.

As he re-joined Elizabeth, she peered out from under her cowl, eyebrows rising questioningly. "Well? What did she say?"

Will shrugged, his face still burning with embarrassment. "Um … She doesn't want our help."

Her face fell in disappointment. "Oh!" Not one to be daunted, though, she brightened again. "Then we'll just find someone else!"

Will stooped to retrieve the hamper. "Elizabeth … perhaps we should reconsider…?"

"Nonsense! Somewhere, there's someone just waiting for a lovely Christmas dinner!"

He sighed deeply, and followed in her wake, like a tail to her bright comet, as she sailed on down the street.

* * *

But each attempt they made to distribute their charity failed to bear fruit. It seemed that the entire populace of Port Royal was either celebrating Christmas Eve snug in their own homes, revelling and drinking themselves senseless in one of the local taverns, or plying dubious trades on the streets, and wholly uninterested in being treated to a free dinner with two wayward waifs.

After an hour had passed, with no success, Will wanted nothing more than to go back to the Governor's mansion, and crawl into his cosy bed in the servants' quarters. Even Elizabeth's enthusiasm seemed to flag more and more as each potential beneficiary rebuffed their generosity.

They now sat on a bench outside a closed shop, the merchant long since having gone to his own Christmas Eve dinner, with Elizabeth flipping aside the dusty hem of her cloak to regard her dainty shoes—all but ruined now, having been designed for no more strenuous activity than tripping gaily across a ballroom floor.

She gave a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry, Will. I never thought it would be this hard finding someone lost, alone and in need…"

Will shrugged, and patted her hand consolingly. "Still, it was a very thoughtful and generous idea, regardless of the outcome. And you might consider it a testimony to the success of your father's governance, that there are so few destitute in Port Royal."

Elizabeth glanced down at the hamper at their feet. "But what are we to do with the food and drink? T'would be a shame, to have them go to waste."

"Perhaps we should just leave them on someone's doorstep…" Will bent to retrieve the hamper, but before he could, Elizabeth touched his arm.

"Look… there's someone!"

Will looked up to see a man across the street, skulking in the shadows next to the cooper's shop, puffing on a pipe, tobacco smoke wreathing his head like an odoriferous blue cloud. Adjusting her cowl to make sure it was securely in place, Elizabeth started forward, but Will gripped her arm frantically, warning bells tolling in his head as the man's glinting eyes turned toward them, looking them over. There was something in that gaze, even at a distance, that made Will's blood run cold—something dark and hard, calculating and malevolent.

"Elizabeth … no!" he said, firmly, his eyes straying to the man's waist, where he thought he could just see the hilt of a knife peeking out from under the ruffian's scruffy coat. But even as Elizabeth turned back to Will, a question in her eyes, the man was moving toward them, much too quickly.

Will tried to pull Elizabeth back, tightening his grip, yanking her by the arm so hard that she was practically pulled off her feet, the hood of her cloak falling away, but by this time the man was already upon them. "Well, wot 'ave we 'ere?" he said, his scarred face twisting into an ugly, greedy grin, his avaricious eyes moving over the hamper at Will's feet, the basket of wine on Elizabeth's arm, up the bodice of the fancy dress revealed as her cloak billowed open on a stray breeze, finally alighting on the wink of gold and jewels resting against her pale skin, just above the neckline of her gown. "A young Father Christmas and a sweet l'il angel, bearin' gifts…" He drew the knife from his belt, pointing it toward the necklace draped round Elizabeth's neck. "And I'll begin with _that _li'l bauble, there…worth a pretty penny, I'd wager!"

Will surged forward, intent on protecting Elizabeth at all costs, but had barely time to move before he found himself sprawled on his back in the dirt road, his jaw smarting from a blow he hadn't even seen coming, a fresh cut on his hand oozing dark blood, looking up in horror as the blackguard laid hands upon Elizabeth, and started pulling her toward the darker shadows of the alleyway…

Elizabeth shrieked and dropped her basket, struggling in the man's iron grip. _"Will!"_

Before Will had time to regain his feet, a clear, slightly slurred baritone rang out from the pitch-blackness of the alley:

"I would most wholeheartedly recommend that you unhand the young lady, mate—immediately if not sooner. That is, unless you're eager to welcome twenty-eight inches of cold steel into your heart, along with the good tidings of the season! Savvy?"

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_**A/N **- Remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-)_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

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**- Part Three -**

They all froze _in tableau _as a figure emerged from the alley…

No shiny, polished storybook hero was he… in fact, Will thought the man, who appeared as though he had just come out at the losing end of a barroom brawl, looked considerably more disreputable than the miscreant who currently had hold of Elizabeth. Certainly, more dirty: his long loose hair was a stringy, matted tangle, his clothing filthy as though he had been sleeping in a pigsty, his face smeared with dirt and what looked like dried blood, and one eye, ringed in dark, bruised flesh, was practically swollen shut. Definitely more drunk: he swayed on his bucket-booted feet, free arm swinging to one side to maintain balance, the jewels of his rings winking saucily in the moonlight. Nevertheless, his sword was held in a steady hand, unwaveringly poised at the level of the would-be thief's chest…

The thief in question jerked Elizabeth in front of him, wrapping an arm around her waist possessively, knife held against her throat, effectively using her as a shield between himself and the swordsman. "Get off, mate! I was 'ere first, so the spoils be mine!" He leered. "But, just to show ye I can be generous, ye can have whatever's left, after I get done with 'er!"

Will saw Elizabeth react: her eyes widened in fear, even as they sparked with impotent anger. The man from the alley spared Will a lightning-quick glance—eyes black and sharp like a bird's in the grimy, battered face, despite his drunken mien—before he started, with mincing, cross-over steps, circling around the man with the knife, peppering him with a steady stream of verbal nonsense.

"C'mon, mate … it's Christmas Eve. Is this any way to celebrate the season of our good Lord's birth? Assailing children, robbing a sweet young girl of her swag?" He clucked his tongue, chidingly. "For shame! This ought to be a night for Peace on Earth, Good Will toward men! Decking halls, filling wassail bowls, throwin' on the Yule Log and fa-la-la-ing…" As he moved, Elizabeth's attacker gradually pivoted around to keep the swordsman in his wary sight, lowering his knife from the relatively unthreatening girl in his arms to wield it instead at what he perceived to be the more immediate danger, turning his back to Will …

When the swordsman again flicked him a keen gaze, Will suddenly perceived what the game was… and his own role in it.

While the assailant was kept distracted with chatter, Will got silently to his feet, waiting for the opportune moment, then launched himself at Elizabeth's abductor, taking him by surprise as his fingers, with a strength fuelled by adrenaline and fear for her safety, closed like a vice around his forearm, effectively immobilising his knife-hand.

Almost simultaneously, the swordsman moved in, quick as a cat, his aim dropping from chest-level, to drive the point of his sword through both the wide brocaded skirt of Elizabeth's gown and the cape behind it, directly into the man's thigh.

The man howled in pain as blood blossomed through the fabric of his trousers, loosening his grip on Elizabeth …

Who promptly drove the heel of her shoe back into his knee, followed shortly by a sharp elbow to the solar-plexus.

As a _coupe de grace_, Will scooped up one of the errant bottles from Elizabeth's tumbled basket and, swinging it in a wide arc, broke it over the knife-wielder's head…

Who dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious...

Will, breathing hard, looked up, eyes frantically searching for Elizabeth. As soon as their eyes met, she ran forward and flung herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely around the neck.

"Are you all right?" he panted, as his heart pounded against hers.

He felt her head nod affirmatively against his shoulder. "Yes. Perfectly! Not a scratch." She hugged him even more tightly, whispering against his neck, "Oh, Will! That was so brave of you! You saved my life!"

For a moment, it was worth the attack, and his own unfortunate wounding, if it meant getting to hold her like this, pressed to his chest, warm and safe in his arms.

After a moment of blissful unawareness, a slight coughing noise caught their notice. They turned as one to face the man who had come to their aid.

"Well, if you whelps are none the worse for wear, I'll just haul anchor now, and be on me way …" Wiping his bloodied sword on the seat of the unconscious man's trousers before sheathing it (after, in his drunken state, three failed attempts to find the scabbard), he touched the brim of his leather tricorne and turned on his heel to go.

Elizabeth flicked a beseeching look up at Will, then, significantly, down to where the overturned hamper and spilled basket lay on the ground.

"Wait!" they cried in unison. The stranger froze, wobbling unsteadily, then slowly turned back around.

"It was our noble intent, when we set out this night, to gift some needy person with a Christmas feast," Elizabeth said. "We would be honoured, brave sir, in repayment of your kindness to us, if you would allow us to bestow our gift upon you."

The man tilted his head back, looking down his recently-bloodied nose at them, the eye not already blackened and swollen shut narrowing as he regarded them. "Quite a snap judgement to make about a man, without really knowin' 'im, ain't it? What makes you think I'm in need, eh?" he said, rather defensively, Will thought.

Will gave a small snort of disbelieving laughter, his eyes sweeping the figure before him from head to toe. "Well … just _look _at you! You're drunk, you're filthy, you've obviously been in a fight…"

"Well, besides that, of course…"

Will would have gone on, but Elizabeth's hand upon his arm stilled him.

"No offence, sir," she said. "But if you're hungry, and think you would benefit from some decent food, good wine, and pleasant company, we would be pleased to offer you such." And she smiled at him, eyes wide and ingenuous, face sweet as any angel's. Will knew the look well, knowing from personal experience the power it held, and what it could do.

The flinty eyes softened as they shifted from Will to Elizabeth. "Wine, eh?" he said. His lip twitched in what might have been a mild sneer. "Rum's usually me poison of choice…"

She bent and picked up the basket, collecting the stray bottles and returning them to their woven nest. She stood and stepped forward. "I'm afraid wine is all we have. We _did _have one bottle of fine brandy, but it has, unfortunately, been sacrificed to a greater good." She looked pointedly down at her attacker, lying face-down in the road, surrounded by shards of broken glass that glittered like diamonds in the moonlight.

The man pouted, and said in a mournful tone, "Pity…"

Her gaze met his, unflinchingly, as she held the basket out to him. "You might as well take it, for _we've_ no intention of drinking it." She inclined her head toward Will, including him in her "we". "It will only go to waste, otherwise…"

"Well," the man wavered, both in resolve and literally. "When you put it that way, darlin'. Can't waste good wine, now, can we?" He approached, and paused a moment before reaching out and relieving her of the basket. He smiled crookedly, and Will could see a black gap where there once had been a tooth. He wondered if he had lost it in the recent altercation that had given him his bruised eye.

With a small bow to his benefactress, the man turned without a word, and started staggering in the direction of the nearest tavern, leaving Elizabeth and Will to stare at his retreating back until he stopped and spun on his heel. "Well? Are you two comin', or not?" He flicked his fingers imperiously from Will, to the hamper in the road, then turned and started walking away.

Will scrambled to collect the hamper and, exchanging a look with Elizabeth that was tantamount to a shrug, they followed the strange, swaying figure down the street…

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_**A/N **- Remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-)_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

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**- Part Four -**

Will and Elizabeth followed their rescuer through the streets, wending their way from the centre of Port Royal and heading in the general direction of the docks, into an area on the outskirts of town where any gently-bred person would hesitate to tread in the daytime, let alone after dark. If they had considered the part of town they had just left as being "rough", this place went beyond, and beneath, that.

Though her gaze was bright with irrepressible curiosity, drinking in the new and unfamiliar sights around her from under the protective veil of her hood, Elizabeth cleaved close to Will's side; they had little choice but to trust in their unsavoury saviour's protection as they passed hawkish men and sharp-faced women who eyed them with lean and hungry looks, a faint air of want and despair clinging to them like a subtle, sour perfume.

Their escort led them into an alley, through a gate behind one of the seedier taverns, into an ill-kept, bramble-choked back garden that smelled of many earthy things, but not of flowers. They stopped briefly at the garden pump while the stranger (after placing his tricorne and the wine-basket safely out of splashing distance) drew and poured a bucket of cold, brackish water over his grubby, reeking self. Shaking his head like a half-drowned dog, sending droplets flying from whip-crack tendrils of hair like a fusillade of foetid grapeshot, he then beckoned them to follow him up a narrow back stairway to a dingy door that opened upon a dimly-lit hallway lined with even more doors.

As they traversed the hall, Will found himself wishing for a candle or lamp, the low lighting being barely adequate for normal human eyes. The raucous noise from the tavern below drifted up to them, almost, but not quite, masking the sounds coming from beyond some of the doors—an inchoate blending of feminine and masculine voices—and Will tried not to think about what might be going on behind those closed doors.

They paused as the stranger, still dripping from his makeshift bath, stopped at one of the doors. Thrusting the wine-basket into Elizabeth's arms, he fished a key out of his pocket, slipped it into the rusty lock (again, as with the sword earlier, taking two or three attempts before he could accomplish his task), turned it, then pushed the door open as the poorly-oiled hinges shrieked in protest. With a grandiose wave of his hand, he invited them to precede him.

As they crossed the threshold and moved into the room—dark save for weak moonlight filtering in through a small window rendered nearly opaque with years of accumulated grime—Will's foot struck something, which rolled away with a clink of glass. Elizabeth clutched his arm, relying on him to guide her as their eyes slowly adjusted to the near-lightlessness of the room. He heard the door close behind them.

"You'll have to forgive the mess, I'm afraid," the deep, slurring voice came out of the gloom. "Unfortunately, the housekeeping in this fine establishment is not quite up to snuff. Oh … and mind where you step." The man traversed the room with the sure-footed aplomb of one who had done so many times before and, as flint sparked in the darkness, two candles mounted in simple, cast-iron wall sconces soon flamed into greasy, sputtering life.

Will immediately regretted his earlier wish for _more _light, once the contents of the room were revealed. Elizabeth's eyes, wide with shock, met Will's, and it was as though he could hear her thoughts near plain as day: _People actually _live _like this?_

To describe the chamber as "squalid" would have been a kindness. The whitewashed walls had darkened to a dull, dirty, depressing grey, and every corner of the low ceiling was festooned with cobwebs, vacant but for an encrustation of dust, as though their arachnid occupants had long abandoned this place in search of better quarters. The room—which stank of old sweat, cheap rum and unemptied chamber pot—was bare of furnishings save for a small, narrow bed with a stained, thin straw mattress bereft of linens, a rough-hewn table and one rickety chair. Instead of a nightstand, there was only a small shelf affixed to the wall next to the bed, large enough to accommodate a candlestick or lamp, but little else. The tacky, bare plank floor under their feet was strewn with a veritable sea of discarded bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was no wardrobe, bureau, or anywhere else a man could store personal effects; indeed, it appeared that what the man wore—the clothing on his back, boots, baldric, belt, sword, purse, pistol and hat—were _all_ that he possessed.

"What's all this?" Will asked, with a sweeping gesture to indicate the floor and its array of random glassware.

"Eh?" The man stopped in mid-motion of reaching for the window, brimming chamber-pot clutched in one hand. He looked down, and reacted as though noticing the bottles for the first time. "Oh!" He pointed to one empty bottle, "Breakfast…" then to another, "Dinner…" then to a half-full one perched upon the table. "Supper." He pushed open the window, thrust the chamber pot out, and emptied its contents into the alley below. There came a cry of "Oi!" from down in the alley, along with a stream of more colourful language, and he stuck his head back out the window. "Sorry, mate!" he called down. "Pump's 'round back, if you fancy a tidy-up!"

Elizabeth made a small, distressed noise. "When's the last time you've eaten?" she asked.

The man's brow lowered in a thoughtful frown as he closed and latched the window. "Hmmm. Tuesday, I believe. Yes, it definitely was a Tuesday…" He placed the now-empty chamber pot on the floor and pushed it back under the bed with the toe of his boot.

"Oh my!" she gasped, and shot Will a troubled look. "We'll just have to remedy that, won't we?" She beckoned Will to approach and, after nudging a few bottles aside with his foot, he deposited the hamper on the floor, next to the table.

Setting her basket aside, Elizabeth lifted the hamper's lid, and removed a white linen serviette, with which she attempted to clean the table. After a few futile swipes, however, she wrinkled her nose in obvious disgust and, sighing, tossed the now-soiled square of cloth onto the chair like a soldier throwing down a flag of surrender. Will found the rum-bottle from the table suddenly shoved into his hands, then watched as Elizabeth unfastened and removed her cloak, draping it across the sticky, stained surface like a tablecloth. "There," she said, with forced cheerfulness. "That's better."

As she surveyed her handiwork, Will saw her eyes narrow, and she suddenly bent and peered at the cape. Reaching out her hand, she fingered the hole in the cloak that had been made by the point of the stranger's sword, then searched for and found the corresponding gashes, front and back, hidden amongst the folds of her gown, along with traces of her attacker's blood. "Oh!" She made a small moue of dismay.

"Sorry about the damage to your finery," the man muttered, apologetically, "but better a slit in your skirts than in your pretty throat, eh?"

Will saw Elizabeth's face drain of colour as she belatedly realised just how close she had come to serious injury, and possibly death. He reached out and touched her elbow with a steadying hand, concerned. "Are you all right?" he whispered to her, for the second time that night.

She nodded tersely. "Yes. Thanks to this man … and to you." She looked up briefly into Will's face, and he fancied for a moment that there was more than simply friendship and gratitude in her warm brown eyes. As she grasped Will's injured hand, he hissed in pain. "Oh! You've been hurt!" She raised his hand and turned it toward the light of the candle guttering in the nearest sconce.

He hitched his shoulders in a shrug. "It's really nothing… a scratch, is all."

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the bright blood oozing from the shallow knife-wound. "A little more than that, I think," she said. She dipped into the hamper for a fresh serviette, folded it into a triangle and, rolling it into a makeshift bandage, she wrapped it carefully around his bleeding hand, securing it by tying the loose corner ends into a knot.

"There you go. Good as new," she said and, like a mother with an injured child, dropped a light kiss on top of the bandage, directly over the wound. Will felt his face heat again. With a reassuring smile, she turned and began to busy herself with unloading the contents of the hamper.

When he could bear to tear his moonstruck eyes away from Elizabeth, he turned to find the stranger, hand cupping a third candle, staring at him, eyes disconcertingly sharp and bright in the dancing light of the candle flame, as they had been during the battle earlier, a tiny, knowing smile quirking one corner of his moustache. Will shuffled awkwardly under the gaze, then cleared his throat, nervously.

"Thank you again for coming to our aid tonight. By the way, I'm W—" Elizabeth turned, caught his eye, flashing him a warning look. "I'm Walter, and this is my … uh … sister … Bess," he improvised.

The man put his candle down on the bedside shelf. "Sister, eh?" He smirked as he glanced Elizabeth's way. "If so, then clearly your parents are playin' favourites. _She _gets fancy frocks and jewels, and _you _get twice-mended breeches and a second-hand _chapeau_, if I'm any judge of headwear—and I like to think I am. Doesn't seem very fair, mate." He frowned, his lips pursing slightly as if a thought had just occurred to him. "On the other hand, I s'pose it wouldn't work out too well the other way 'round … _you _wearin' the frock, and _she _the breeches.'" He grinned crookedly, and Will again noticed the missing tooth. "Trust me, boy … you just don't have the figure or the—" he waggled beringed fingers in the direction of Will's torso, "—_attributes_—to carry it off …"

Will exchanged a bemused glance with Elizabeth, both of them seemingly having the same thought: _Have we placed ourselves in the hands of a madman?_

"Besides…" the man continued, "From the way you two were holding onto one another back there in the street, and the tender care she was givin' you just now, I'd say, if you actually _are _brother and sister—which I rather doubt—then your parents have much bigger problems to worry about than how you dress…" He arched one brow, and Will felt his face flush again, without exactly knowing why.

"I'll have you know—" Will started indignantly, but was abruptly cut off when the man spoke again.

"Save it, son. You're a very poor liar, and I should know, as I've rubbed elbows with more'n me share of silver-tongued scallywags." He nodded toward Elizabeth. "And if _she's _your sister, I'll eat my hat—which would be a bloody shame, since I happen to be rather fond of this particular hat."

Before Will could say any more, Elizabeth turned from her task, suddenly every inch the Governor's daughter.

"I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage, sir," she piped up, stepping forward, hands folded demurely in front of her. "You know our names, but have yet to provide us yours."

"Oh, haven't I?" he said, the pitch of his voice rising interrogatively. "Then allow me to rectify that oversight, darlin'." He removed his tricorne, placing it over his heart. "Captain John Smith, at your service…" He bowed with exaggerated hauteur, and reached for her hand as though to kiss it. Then, seeming to notice the dirt and scraped knuckles for the first time—which had somehow eluded the pump-water's cleansing touch—he grimaced and opted instead for saluting her with an incline of his head and a touch of his besmirched fingers against his battered brow.

She responded with a small curtsey, impeccably polite. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Smith."

Will eyed him sceptically. "And if that's your real name," he said, "I'll eat _my _hat!"

"Now, _Walter_! Please be kind! He did save our lives, after all!" Elizabeth said, in mild rebuke, but with a mischievous quirk of her lips, before turning back to the hamper.

The Captain shot a pointed look Will's way, crooking him a sly, gap-toothed grin. "Every bit as real as 'Walter' and 'Bess', I daresay—" he said under his breath, for Will's ears only, then louder, "but it happens to be me name … at present." His eyes watched, greedily, as Elizabeth unpacked the hamper, spreading its mouth-watering contents across the cape-draped table-top. "And, fortunately, it looks like we won't have to resort to masticatin' our masculine millinery. Not when such a delightful feast has been provided for our delectation."

Soon, they were all sitting with full plates, partaking of the bounty pilfered from the Governor's holiday banquet. Will and Elizabeth sat at table—she perched, ladylike, on the sole chair, he atop the empty hamper—while the Captain sprawled at leisure on his shabby, rented bed, his sodden coat flung over the footboard, plate of food balanced on his upper chest as he eschewed the fine silver cutlery the hamper had provided in favour of picking at the food with fingers stained with tar and, Will estimated, at least a month's worth of dirt. He ate with gusto, like a man long-starved, and despite his voiced disdain for the wine, the contents of the first bottle disappeared down his gullet quickly enough, and he was happily, and drunkenly, making his way through the second.

"May I ask, Captain Smith, what brought you to Port Royal?" Elizabeth, slipping into the role of hostess, queried with polite interest.

"You may well ask …" He grinned. "In fact, I believe you just did!" He put the plate next to him on the bed, and levered himself up to a sitting position, right knee raised, one arm draped over it. "What brought me to this fair port—literally—was the good ship _Fortune's Fool_, and a more apt name there never was…"

"Oh," Elizabeth brightened. "Is that _your _ship, Captain?"

His grin faltered, his eyes darkening. "No. Not mine. I'm merely a member of her crew … _was _a member, for she's sailed on without me." He frowned. "In truth, to still call meself 'Captain' is a bit of a misnomer, for I find meself, at present, deprived of a ship, and crew, of me own…"

"Deprived? What happened?" Elizabeth asked, her tone bespeaking more than casual interest.

All animation left his bruised face, his gaze dropping to the bottle clutched in his fist as he replied, in a dead voice, "I lost her." He upended the bottle, drinking down the last of the wine then, tossing the bottle aside, swung his feet down from the bed, stood up, and tottered over to claim the remaining half-bottle of rum.

Will's glance took in the cluttered room, then came to rest on the clearly inebriated man swaying on his feet before them, idly wondering if his inability to stay sober had anything to do with him losing his ship, and captaincy.

But Elizabeth's voice, when she spoke again, was filled with quiet sympathy. "Oh, dear! Lost … at sea? Was she wrecked? Taken by a storm?"

The battered face softened, even as the eyes hardened to flint. "No. But me ship _was _taken all right … stolen, by scurvy, plunderin', back-stabbin' pirates!"

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes lighting with excitement. "Pirates!"

Will groaned inside, cursing the man for managing to hit upon her favourite subject. Like her father, he didn't approve of Elizabeth's interest in all things pirate. His own experience on the Atlantic crossing had left him with a marked distaste for the subject, bringing back terrifying memories of blood-spattered decks, the acrid smell of burning ship's timbers, crimson and black skies, and the numbing chill of seawater as it threatened to swallow him up…

"Aye!" the Captain affirmed, his voice lowering to a dramatic timbre as he sat back down, heavily, on the bed, hugging his bottle to him. "Pirates! Wrested me beautiful ship from me loving, guiding hands, and left me for dead…"

"Oh, my!" Elizabeth's eyes went big as saucers. "How dreadful for you! Were they fierce pirates?"

"Oh, the very fiercest, led by the ugliest, scurviest, most triple-damned, black-hearted, poxy, swiving son of a bitch as I've ever had the displeasure to lay eyes upon!" As Elizabeth blushed at his profligate use of invectives, he hastened to add, "Beggin' missy's pardon for me salty language. It's hard not to speak baldly, when me wounds are still stingin' from the loss!"

The mention of wounds drew both her and Will's eyes to his grazed knuckles, his split lip, the traces of dried blood on his face, the swollen, blackened eye. "Speaking of wounds, Captain …" Will ventured, "how did you receive your current injuries?"

Elizabeth laid her hand upon Will's arm, adding, respectfully, "If the question's not too delicate a one, of course." Will knew she was just as curious as he—if not more so—in regard to what had happened to the Captain.

"T'was over the matter of a lady's honour…"

Elizabeth's eyes flashed, betraying keen interest. "You were wounded defending a lady's honour?" she asked, a little breathlessly, and Will felt a small stab of jealousy toward the Captain.

"Well … not exactly," the Captain started, a bit sheepishly, then hesitated. Staring into the depths of the rum bottle, he muttered something that sounded to Will's ears like _"In vino veritas" _but he couldn't be certain. "Truth be told, I inadvertently delivered an egregious insult to a woman I met tonight—an insult that the fair lady's husband, father, and three strapping brothers sought to redress by the repeated and quite enthusiastic application of fists upon me person."

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, her face falling into lines of disappointment, though Will was secretly pleased to see her attempts to build the Captain into some sort of romantic hero thwarted.

"And the insult?" Will prompted.

The hawk-sharp eyes fixed on his for a long moment, the split lip curling sardonically. "That's a tale not for young and innocent ears, I'm afraid. Let's just say that I made a serious error in judgment, and offered to purchase a commodity that the lady, it turns out, had no intention of selling."

Elizabeth's face showed no flicker of understanding of the meaning of the Captain's cryptic words. However, Will immediately thought of the shabbily-dressed woman from the alley, the noises coming from behind the closed doors they had passed, and thought he understood.

"In any case, I might have gotten off with less extensive damage done—I can be remarkably fleet of foot, as need demands—had I not had the misfortune to run down a blind alley. Trapped, as it were, like a fox cornered by the hounds. And, like a pack of mad dogs, they laid into me, beat me near senseless, and heaved me bleedin' body into the nearest pigsty." He frowned, thoughtfully. "I can't help but think they intended to impart some sort of message, there…"

Will's eyes flicked to the sword, in its scabbard, now leaning against the wall next to the bed—well within handy reaching distance, he noticed, wondering if that was by accident, or by ingrained habit. "But you had sword, and they were, as you say, unarmed save for fists. Why did you not use your weapon to defend yourself?"

The Captain tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Will. "Well, I couldn't very well kill them, for defendin' their kinswoman's honour and reputation, could I? Though the insult was unintended, and arose from an unfortunate misperception on my part, I was clearly in the wrong. And, as such, the consequences were upon me own head." He touched his bruised face, and winced. "Quite literally, as it turns out."

"Well, whatever your misdeed, you certainly atoned for it tonight," Elizabeth said, gently. "You saved our lives, at risk of your own…"

The Captain laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Now, missy, don't you go mistakin' me for some sort of knight in shinin' armour, for that couldn't be farther from the truth. And, as I see it, the only life at risk tonight was your own." His eyes flicked to the blood-stained napkin wrapped around Will's hand. "And young Walter's here, of course. But a ruffian's knife is no match for a longsword, in the hands of someone who knows how to use it, which I do. And I wonder whatever your parents were thinkin', to let two babes in the woods like you go on such a fool's errand in the dark of night."

She and Will exchanged an eloquent, guilty look.

"No, darlin'. I'm no hero. All I am, at present, is a man without a home, a captain without a ship, a rudderless vagrant, a wastrel with a shady past and an uncertain future. No one worth worryin' your pretty little head about." He indicated his beaten face. "And certainly not over a few bumps, bruises and scratches, which I freely admit I deserve, and which are nothin' compared to some of the injuries I've suffered over the years."

Elizabeth sat staring at the man for a moment, then, taking her napkin from her lap, she stood up. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for something, her sigh and the sag of her shoulders telling Will of her search's fruitlessness. He made a small sound of warning and protest as she moved forward, approaching the man on the bed.

As she neared, the Captain's head jerked up to watch her, his black gaze glittering in the candlelight, until she settled next to him on the lumpy mattress, then reached out to extricate the rapidly-dwindling bottle of rum from his hands. Holding the napkin to the mouth of the bottle, she upended it, wetting the napkin with a generous portion of the remaining alcohol. Placing the bottle on the floor next to the bed, she reached tentatively for his right hand and, bending her head, she began dabbing his abraded knuckles gently with the rum-soaked cloth.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you," she said, her voice low, calm, as Will remembered his own mother's being while tending to his own bumps and scrapes as a child.

The Captain chuckled darkly, "Darlin', you've seen me face. I've been worked over by men whose intent it was to inflict the maximum amount of hurt on me body." Nevertheless, he winced as the cloth brushed over a place where the skin was split and raw.

"Sorry…" she said, and he grunted a reply.

She finished with his hand, and turned her face up to his, squinting in the dim lighting as she scrutinised his face, then pressed the cloth carefully against a weeping cut above his purpling, swollen eye.

"I understand that you lost your ship and crew," Will ventured, keeping a close, careful eye on Elizabeth as she tended to the man's injuries. "But there are other ships, other crews. Can't you just get another one? It's only a ship, after all…" he said, innocently.

The Captain looked at him, aghast, as though he had uttered the ultimate blasphemy. "Only a ship? Bite your tongue, boy!" Will watched as the man's face filled with more animation than he'd shown thus far. "I'll have you know, lad, that a ship is a livin' thing. With a heart, and a soul. And it's not an 'it', it's a 'she', and like any woman, she's got her moods as well as a mind of her own. She can either love and accept her captain, work with him, entrust her keeping and command to him, or hate him and fight him tooth and nail."

His face was transformed, becoming almost transcendent, as he continued, in a low, passionate voice. "On rare occasions, a captain is blessed by being paired with a ship that is his equal in every way—his soul's mate, if you will. I was fortunate to have found such a perfect mate in my own sweet lady."

They sat, enthralled, watching the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his beloved ship, his hands moving animatedly, expressively as he described her in loving detail.

"From the moment I saw her, stepped foot upon her deck, felt the curve of her wheel under me hands, heard her sweet voice in the winds singing through her shrouds and the pulse of her lifeblood in every creak of her boards, I knew there would be no other ship for me. I pledged me very heart to her as a man does a wife, went through hell itself to claim and to keep her! Watched her burn and die, sold me very soul to see her restored to life and glory! The very thought of replacing her—me heart, me home, me very life—why, it's positively unthinkable!"

An awed hush fell over the room as the Captain finished, until Elizabeth's voice broke the silence, low and fervent:

"Then you simply must get her back!"

"How?" The Captain sighed, and there was a profound weariness in his voice when he continued, like a man who had lost everything worth living for. "Here I am, stranded in Port Royal, with nary a penny to me name, takin' odd jobs and brief stints on whatever ships pass me way simply to buy meself rum and a bed, and the occasional bit of company, when the budget allows.

"Besides, the cause is a lost one, I fear. I've wandered hither and yon, drifting on aimless seas, for nigh on three years now, searchin' for my lost lady, and he wot took her from me." His fingers strayed to the pistol stuck in his belt. "Alas, without success."

"No word of her at all?" Elizabeth asked, the blood-stained napkin now folded, seemingly forgotten, in her lap.

"Nothing encouraging—only troubling bits of news about the blackguard wot took her, and the new purpose she's been turned to." He scowled. "Defiled, she's been. Sullied, and cruelly misused. Made an aider and abetter of senseless carnage, at the hands of her new master! It near kills me to think of her used in such a way!"

Elizabeth sat a moment, motionless, her eyes fixed on Captain Smith's dejected face. Then Will watched as she lifted her arms, slipped her hands back under the golden waterfall of her hair—which had worked free from their combs during their conflict with the would-be thief—and undid the clasp of her necklace. Gathering the beloved heirloom in one cupped hand, she traced one finger along the lady's profile depicted in the cameo. Will looked on in astonishment as she bent to kiss it, then held it out to Captain Smith.

"Here," she said, reaching for the Captain's hand, placing the sparkling piece of jewellery into the centre of his upturned palm. "This was my mother's, and her mother's before her, and I am led to believe, by my father, that it's worth a fair amount of coin. Take it. Buy yourself a ship, a crew. Go and find your lost lady."

"No!" Will cried out as he came to her, placed his hand on her shoulder as she turned to look up at him. He could see the tears standing in her eyes, knowing what this "gift" to the Captain was costing her, and not just in the value of the gems. "Are you sure you want to do this? Give up one of your prized possessions, one of the last reminders of your late mother—for a stranger?" he said, forgetting for a moment their subterfuge of being brother and sister.

Will was aware of the Captain's dark eyes regarding him before returning to contemplation of the necklace, his eyes glittering briefly, like the jewels he held, with avarice. But then he extended his hand, offering the necklace back to Elizabeth, "No, darlin' …" he said on a sigh. "Though your offer's an exceedingly kind one, as well as mightily tempting, I can't take this…"

But Elizabeth was having none of it. "No. I insist!" she cupped both her hands around his, moulding his hand, forcing his fingers to close round the jewel. Above the muted noise of the tavern downstairs, they could hear church bells striking the midnight hour. "It's Christmas—a day for giving, for cherishing family and friends, and for counting one's blessings. I have other jewels, and more blessings than I can count. Consider this my Christmas gift to you, as well as repayment for saving our lives tonight…"

The Captain shook his damp head, with a rueful grimace. "Darlin', you don't even know me. If you knew who I really am … _what _I am … the things I've done, you never would offer such a precious treasure to me. Besides, you two have already repaid me, with the wine and the meal…"

"And is that sufficient recompense for two lives that might have been lost, without your intervention? Please!" She withdrew her hands, leaving him holding the necklace. "I truly believe that if Mother were here—God rest her soul—she would want you to have it, for she was a kind and generous woman, and always believed that a debt ought to be repaid…"

The Captain stared at her a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before his gaze flicked up to Will. "And what about you?"

Will shrugged with a sigh. "I'm afraid once Bess' mind is made up about something, there's no use fighting her. You might as well accept the gift, for she won't take 'no' for an answer …"

The black eyes burned into his for a moment—giving Will the disconcerting notion that the man could penetrate his thoughts, see inside his mind—then dropped as the Captain nodded. "Aye. That's the way of it, with most females, from my experience." His eyes fastened again on Elizabeth, softening, becoming suspiciously bright and liquid as they stared into hers. "I thank you, darlin', from the bottom of me black, undeservin' heart."

She smiled. "Just promise me, you'll find your beautiful ship, and win her back."

"I'll do me damnedest, darlin'. Count on that. But I do think it will take a miracle."

"Captain Smith, I just so happen to believe in miracles. And so does Walter, here." She turned and bestowed a smile upon Will that thoroughly warmed his heart, recalling the first time he had cast eyes upon that angel's face, as a half-drowned boy, newly plucked from the icy sea, all because of this girl's sharp eyes, and kind heart. He owed his very life to her, would have died without her. She was, indeed, his angel, his lifeline…

His miracle…

And now, watching the Captain watch Elizabeth, the man had the same look on his battered face. Disbelieving. Hopeful. Like perhaps he had just found his angel, his lifeline, too…

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_**A/N **- Remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-)_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

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**- Part Five -**

Elizabeth smiled and squeezed the Captain's hand encouragingly. "And now I'm afraid Walter and I _must _go." She rose and turned toward Will, and only he saw the tear slip down her cheek—whether from the sacrifice of her treasured keepsake, sympathy for the Captain's plight, or a combination of both, he couldn't be sure.

As they started packing plates, cutlery, and the rest of the non-consumables back into the hamper, the Captain cleared his throat. "If you don't mind prolonging the dubious pleasure of me company, I'll see you whelps back home…"

"Oh, no!" Elizabeth was quick to interject, her eyes reflecting a trace of panic. "That isn't necessary…"

Captain Smith laughed, his voice lowering to an almost dangerous, silken growl. "Oh, no you don't, missy! I won't have gone through all the trouble of savin' the pair of you, only to have it all come to naught should some unhappy happenstance happen to befall you walkin' back." He flung his arm out toward the window. "In case it's escaped your notice, this ain't precisely the posh end of town." His gaze fastened on Elizabeth again, softening as it had done when she'd offered him the necklace, and when he spoke his voice was softer as well. "And a young lady of quality such as yourself—one so obviously _not _born to this squalid setting—can't help but draw undesired attention from a decidedly undesirable element wot cares not a whit for your personal safety. I'd hate the thought of you exposin' yourself to danger again, without proper protection…"

Will bristled, chafing at the man's summary dismissal of him as an escort, as well as his exclusion from the little circle of intimacy that seemed to have grown between the Captain and Elizabeth. He squared his shoulders and, with all the defiant dignity of a fourteen-year-old male, eager to prove himself, said tersely, "You needn't put yourself out on our behalf. _I _can protect her, _and _myself!"

The Captain shifted his focus to Will, looked him up and down with a critical eye, as though taking his measure as a defender, and as a man. "A noble and admirable sentiment, to be sure, lad. But if I may point out the obvious: _I_ am armed, and _you _are not, and, as demonstrated earlier, there are men afoot who would not hesitate to take advantage of that rather visible vulnerability — as evidenced by that little memento you now carry on your hand, which the lovely Bess has so attentively and tenderly tended to."

Will's jaw clenched as he ground his teeth in frustration, knowing the man was right, and resenting him for that fact. The Captain seemed to sense this frustration, as his tone became less flippant, more conciliatory. "This is not to cast any undue aspersions upon your capacity as a staunch protector of wayward young ladies. But in my life—one considerably longer than your own, I might add, and full of experiences that I hope you never get to … well, experience—I've known numerous men the likes of he wot accosted you, and I'd heartily advise you take it to heart when I say that you—and 'specially Bess—got off mercifully easy with the fairly minor injuries and indignities you've incurred." His split lip curled into an expression that was more grimace than grin. "And if there's one lesson life has taught me thus far, it's that Fate is a fickle and capricious strumpet, and one not to be trusted, nor trifled with. Having already done you one favour tonight, she might not be so kindly disposed to grant you another, if you again so foolishly put yourself—and _her_—" he nodded toward Elizabeth, "—in harm's way."

The Captain turned back to Elizabeth, tilting his chin up and looking down his injured nose at her. "As for you, young lady—my gratitude to you notwithstanding for the kindness and charity you've shown me—you might more thoroughly consider the possible consequences of your actions, before drawing susceptible young men into adventures—or shall I say rather, _mis_adventures— wot place both you and him in peril. And don't try to tell me that you _weren't _the instigator of tonight's little escapade. I can see you've all the signs of a budding adventuress about you, and no mistake!" Elizabeth's mouth, which had opened to protest his accusation, snapped shut. "If I may be so bold as to give you … well, not exactly _fatherly_, for I'm hardly the paternal type, but at the very least some _friendly _advice … There's quite a lot to be said for avoiding dangerous situations in the first place. Saves a lot of time, trouble, and potential personal bodily harm." He winced as his hand went to his side, no doubt prodding tender, bruised flesh concealed under his clothing. "A lesson I, meself, failed to heed tonight, with obvious, predictable … and, may I add, exceedingly _painful _… results."

Elizabeth slanted a guilty look at Will and at his bandage-wrapped hand, as though realising for the first time her culpability for the wounds he had suffered on her behalf, before nodding, looking sufficiently chastened. "Advice well taken, Captain Smith."

"I certainly do hope so." He straightened. "In any case … you've got yourself an escort, whether you want one or not, and I'll not rest until I see you safely to your doorstep. Besides," his stern visage warmed by way of a lopsided grin, "it's been ages since I've been so pleasantly diverted as I've been this evening by your pleasant and diversionary selves, and I would not be averse to averting that eventual eventuality when our diverse paths must inevitability … diverge.

"But first…" He shifted his weight from one leg to another, his nose twitching. "If the two of you will excuse me for a moment before we take our leave of this quaint hostelry, I'm afraid nature calls, quite pressingly, and rather than offend the lady's delicate sensibilities by availin' meself of the accommodations at hand—or, rather, those presently situated under yon bed—I will instead remove meself to this fine establishment's considerably less-than-fine public privy." He made a small bow to Elizabeth before sashaying unsteadily to the door. Just as he lay his hand upon the latch, he turned and fixed each of them with hawkish black eyes. "And don't you even begin to entertain the slightest notion of the idea of takin' your leave whilst I'm gone. Savvy?"

Will was about to protest, intending to do exactly what the Captain was warning them not to, but Elizabeth laid a hand upon his arm. "Yes… savvy," she said to the Captain.

He tilted his chin up and narrowed his blackened eyes sceptically at them, then with a little moue and a curt nod of his head, he turned and staggered from the room.

Once the door closed, and the sound of the Captain's boot-heels receded down the hall, Will made a motion toward the hamper. "Come on, Elizabeth. If we leave now, we can be well away by the time he returns."

"Will…" she began, hesitantly.

He paused in mid-stoop and looked up at her. She stood, hands folded before her, still as a statue, making no move to retrieve the basket or her cloak.

"Elizabeth … hurry!" he exhorted. "He won't be gone long…"

"But I just promised him we'd wait." She had that stubborn set to her jaw that told him she would not be swayed from her decided course.

He sighed and straightened again. "But what happens when we reach our destination, and he sees that your 'home' is the Governor's mansion? I thought you wanted to keep your identity a secret…"

"We'll just have to think of something on the way. Besides, the man _did _save our lives…"

"For which you paid him, handsomely!" Will interjected. "Not only with a lavish Christmas feast, but also with your mother's necklace."

Her face crumpled, and he immediately regretted his harsh tone, continuing more gently, "Elizabeth … why did you give it away to him? How could you even _consider _parting with something that means so much to you … for a man like _him_? How do you know he won't just waste the gift … barter it for more rum, and happily drink himself to death?" He thought again of the underdressed woman they had encountered earlier, and suspected what else a man with low morals and flush with newfound riches might spend them on.

When she looked up he saw her eyes had welled up again with tears, her lower lip trembling. "Oh, Will. Have you forgotten so soon how it is to suffer the loss of someone — or some_thing_ — you dearly love?"

Will was quite taken aback by the depth of emotion on her face, felt a lurch in his heart as he remembered his own mother's death, a scant year ago. As memories washed over him, both happy and sad, he—only just—maintained his composure, though he couldn't prevent his voice cracking a bit as he said, "Losing a ship is hardly the same as losing a parent, Elizabeth. That is, providing one can trust that that little tale he told was true…"

Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, conceding Will's point. "I suppose you're right; he might be playing us false. But I can't help feeling, _here_—" she lay her hand upon her chest, right over her heart, "that he was being utterly sincere. My heart is telling me that man is grieving a loss every bit as deep and genuine as our own, and that that grief has eaten away at him, taken away his last shred of hope, until all that was left for him was … _this_." The sweep of her arm took in their squalid, bottle-strewn surroundings.

A tear escaped her brimming eyes, and Will barely restrained a sudden impulse to brush it away, to let his thumb tenderly tracing the curve of her cheek, allow it to linger perhaps just a few seconds longer than might be considered proper.

"If there was a way for me to ease his pain, to restore some of the hope he had lost … how could I _not _do it?"

He sighed and hung his head a moment. "You have an extraordinarily kind heart, Elizabeth. I only hope you have no cause to regret it, later."

* * *

By the time they had finished packing up the hamper and tidying up the leavings of their impromptu Christmas Eve dinner, Captain Smith had yet to return.

"I wonder what's keeping the Captain?" Will said.

"You don't suppose something has happened to him?" Elizabeth fretted, with a worried frown. Her eyes widened in alarm. "What if the men who beat him came back to finish what they started? Or the man he saved us from?"

Will gave a rather uncharitable snort. "Perhaps, as drunk as he was tonight, he's fallen down the privy."

Elizabeth shot him an affronted glare. "Will! That's not funny!"

Will gave a slight roll of his eyes, and was about to retort when there was a noise from the hall, just before the door opened, and the Captain re-entered the room.

It looked like he had paid a return visit to the pump as well as to the privy, only this time taking a little more care with his _toilette_. His hair was damp again, and his face appeared to be freshly-scrubbed, which only served to cast the livid bruises and fresh abrasions into clearer, and quite shocking, relief. As bad as they had appeared behind their concealing layer of grime, they looked even more horrific exposed thus.

At their combined stare, Captain Smith shifted uncomfortably, "Wot?" Looking down, he checked the closure of his breeches. "M' dinghy's not slipped its moorings, has it?"

Will coughed, suppressing sudden laughter, while Elizabeth flushed bright red. "N-no," she stammered, diverting her eyes and fiddling with the folds of her skirt. "We were just concerned that you had been waylaid. You've taken ever so long to return…"

He spread his arms. "Well, as you can see, I'm here now … and ready to escort my most charitable benefactress and her loyal swain home…"

While the Captain collected his sword and his hat, Will hefted the hamper — considerably lighter now that it was emptied of its edibles.

Elizabeth reached for her cloak, still spread across the table, but the Captain was suddenly at her side, doffing his just-donned hat as he gave her a surprisingly courtly bow and a gap-toothed grin. "If m'lady would permit me?"

He snatched the cape from the table and made a grand show of draping it over her shoulders, nimble fingers plucking at the loose flowing velvet, taking great care arranging the folds around her. When he had finished, he touched the brim of his hat respectfully, then gallantly offered her his arm. "Shall we?" he said, his poor, abused face moulding itself into a cheeky grin.

Smiling, she looped her arm through his. As they sailed past Will, seemingly oblivious to him, he sighed dejectedly and followed with the hamper.

* * *

With their escort's help, they made it out of the dockside area without incident. Though the moon was not as high in the sky as when he and Elizabeth had embarked upon their errand of goodwill, it still shone brightly enough to light their way.

Will followed just behind Elizabeth and Captain Smith, watching and listening as they chit-chatted about matters various and sundry. He seethed with resentment, watching the two of them, wishing himself in the Captain's place — capturing the steady regard of her warm brown gaze, feeling her slender arm linked with his, seeing the brilliant flash of her pearly teeth as she smiled up at him.

The Captain moved forward with his rolling, swaying sailor's gait, sharing with her — presumably, sanitised for her maiden's ears and sensibilities — tales of his adventures at sea, and Will wondered how many were true, and which were naught but embroidered and embellished twaddle.

He had just finished telling her of his altercation with the pirates — a tale so outlandish Will was certain it was mostly fabrication — when Elizabeth rejoined:

"Actually, we saw a pirate ship on our crossing from England."

Captain Smith raised a sceptical brow, clearly not believing her. "Do tell! A pirate ship, eh? And you lived to tell the tale?" He smiled indulgently. "And how did you know she was a pirate ship?"

"She was flying pirate colours … a black flag with skull and crossbones, just like in the stories. She materialised out of the fog, like a ghost ship. She was eerily beautiful, with her tattered black sails fluttering in the breeze, and her black-painted hull…"

The Captain stopped in his tracks, bringing both Elizabeth and Will up short. He had the strangest expression on his face as he said, "A black ship, you say? With black sails?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said.

Smith's face had gone quite ashen, and still as stone. "How long ago was this?"

"Not quite a year ago. We were less than a week out of Port Royal. She had just attacked and destroyed a merchant ship whose burning wreckage we came across." Her face went still and grim. "I'm afraid there were no survivors, save for a boy we pulled out of the water…" She flicked a surreptitious glance at Will.

Memories of that day came unbidden to Will's mind… fire and fear, smoke and screams, bombardment and blood …

"Sounds like the _Black Pearl_," Captain Smith muttered.

Elizabeth gasped. "The _Black Pearl_! But isn't that Captain Jack Sparrow's ship?" She shook her head, a horrified expression on her face. "Oh, no … it couldn't have been. Captain Sparrow simply wouldn't have done something like that … wantonly destroyed a ship, left no survivors."

"And what do you know of this Captain Sparrow?" he asked, eyes sharp in their blackened sockets as he regarded her. "Besides him being a notorious pirate, and captain of the _Black Pearl_…"

"Oh, practically everything!" Elizabeth gushed. "How he sacked Nassau port without firing a shot… how he vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company… how he defeated a dozen deadly, sabre-wielding Corsairs armed with only his sword, knife, and hat… how he escaped from a Turkish prison by picking the lock with the desiccated finger-bone of a skeleton… how he disguised himself as a concubine to rescue a kidnapped Persian princess from a sheikh's harem…"

The Captain's eyes widened as he looked down at her with a mock-horrified expression. "Quite prurient tales, for such a well-bred young lady. Tell me, missy … do you even _know _what a concubine is?"

She said, sheepishly, "Well … no. I _did _ask my father once, and he practically choked on his breakfast! All he said was that it was inappropriate for me to know such things, or to even ask about them." She fixed him with curious, questioning eyes. "Can _you _tell me what a concubine is? I'm sure you must know."

Captain Smith squirmed. "Yes, well … in this, I'm afraid I am in agreement with your father. No doubt, you'll find out, once you're older." Then the Captain's face thawed, the corner of his mouth quirking. "So you're fond of pirates, then?"

Will watched Elizabeth's face brighten. "Oh, yes! I think it would be simply marvellous to finally meet one! I find them utterly fascinating!"

"Do you, now?" Smith's quirky grin widened into a slow, somewhat amused smile. "And this Captain Sparrow … I take it he's your favourite?"

She nodded enthusiastically, and embarked upon another spate of feminine gushing.

Listening to Elizabeth extol the virtues of her pirate hero Jack Sparrow, Will found himself thankful that he'd never be in the position of having to directly vie for Elizabeth's affections with that fabled buccaneer. How could he hope to compete with the shining protagonist of her dreams and fantasies? Happily, Will was able to take comfort in the fact that the chances of her idol ever crossing their paths were infinitesimal, to say the least.

"Of course, there are some who are of the mind that all pirates are the same and, no matter what they've done, or haven't done, ought to hang."

"Is that so?" Captain Smith queried. "And who may these as-yet-unnamed 'some's be?"

"Well, Lieutenant Norrington, for one—he was one of the men in charge of the _Dauntless_, the Navy ship we came over on. My father, for another. And…" She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes flicking to Will.

Brief as the glance was, the Captain picked up on it. He stopped and turned, fixing Will with an incisive look. "Ah. I take it you support that opinion as well."

Will's return look was defiant, resolute. "I do," he said simply, without elaborating.

As Captain Smith's eyes narrowed, Elizabeth interjected. "I'm afraid that this is one of the few subjects on which Walter and I do not agree. But, please understand … he has good reason for feeling the way he does." The smile she cast Will was filled with sympathy, her eyes kind.

"And you?" the Captain asked, turning keen eyes back toward Elizabeth. "What are your feelings on the matter?"

She met his eyes, levelly. "I feel quite differently. I believe a man—_any _man—should be judged solely on his own deeds, or misdeeds—the good in him weighed against the bad, and taken into consideration when determining his fate and administering justice. As I see it, there are good and bad men in every walk of life. To say a man should die, simply for _being _a pirate, is, to me, simply wrong."

"Not the prevailing opinion, I fear. And your Captain Sparrow? Where does he fall into this scheme, eh? What makes this one pirate worthy of saving, when others might hang?"

She brightened again, happy to be brought back to her favourite subject. "For one, he's clever, and brilliant, and prefers to use his wits rather than deadly force to get his way out of a scrape. He doesn't kill gratuitously. It's said that he never takes a life, unless it's absolutely necessary to save himself, or the lives of his crew."

"Quite a paragon of piracy, it seems!" Captain Smith interrupted. He smirked. "Pray, tell me more…"

"And…" she started, then paused, blushing.

"And…?" the Captain prompted.

"Well … the stories also say that all the ladies fancy him, and consider him to be very handsome indeed. It's said that he's stolen as many hearts as he has chests of treasure, and that he's left a trail of broken ones from New Orleans to Singapore."

The Captain's smirk widened. "Well, darlin' … a woman's heart is indeed a precious thing, well worth the stealin'. Some may say it's a commodity more treasured than silver or gold. But, knowin' what a scurrilous bunch pirates can be, I'd wager your Captain Sparrow spent considerably more time savin' his own neck than those of any fair damsels. There's no profit in it, after all—unless, of course the damsel in question, or her loving and devoted family, happens to be exceedingly rich…" He gave a rather wicked grin. "Or exceedingly lovely… preferably, both!"

Then his smile dimmed. "However, I'm afraid your tales of the _Black Pearl _and her captain are a tad out of date. The word one hears upon the seas of late is that Sparrow…" he paused, and closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain, "_Captain _Sparrow… lost the _Pearl _in a mutiny a few years back…"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh! No, I hadn't heard! Is he …" her lower lip trembled, just a bit, "… is he dead?"

Smith frowned and muttered under his breath, "Might as well be…" before responding, "Apparently, he was marooned on a desert island, left for dead, but somehow made a miraculous escape from said desolate spit of land, for he's been spotted, here and there, since then."

"Oh!" she let her breath out in a rush. "Thank heaven!"

"Still, perhaps you shouldn't believe everything you hear. It is just possible that tales can be somewhat — exaggerated. As heroic as you make this Captain Sparrow sound, the truth may prove to be less impressive … and, in fact, rather disappointing. There may be considerably more dark in the man, more sins on his account, than you give him credit for."

"I doubt that. You see, I believe in my Captain Sparrow." She smiled then, and took his hand. "And if not for the dark in man, sir, how could one recognise the light, and appreciate the fact that it exists?"

* * *

The three of them walked together, until they reached a clearing about halfway to the Governor's mansion. As they got closer to home, Elizabeth turned to their escort. "It's not much farther, now. There's no need for you to accompany us the rest of the way."

Before Captain Smith could reply, a sound rent the night, getting closer — the clatter of carriage wheels.

All three figures froze, and for a moment Will had a sudden urge to drop the hamper, grab Elizabeth's hand and seek concealment in the undergrowth alongside the road. But there was no time, as a carriage suddenly appeared 'round the bend.

Will felt Elizabeth clutch at his arm as the conveyance slowed to a stop right beside them. The passenger window lowered, and a white-wigged head popped out.

"Miss Swann? Is that you?"

"Lieutenant Norrington," Elizabeth acknowledged the new arrival, her hand tightening even more on Will's arm. He could hear the dismay in her tone—which he shared—at being caught out a mere quarter-hour from safely reaching the end of their Christmas escapade, with no-one the wiser.

"Might I ask what you are doing out _here_, young lady, when last I heard your father was convinced you were up in your room, sleeping the sleep of the innocent?" His eyebrows rose questioningly as his eyes flicked to the hamper in Will's grasp, the white napkin wrapped round his hand. He barely acknowledged Will's presence otherwise.

"We were merely taking an offering of food into town," Elizabeth started.

"For the needy," Will added, helpfully, earning a disdainful glance from the Lieutenant.

"In the spirit of the season, you understand," Elizabeth quickly appended. "We have so much, after all, and others have so little…"

Norrington's eyes narrowed (Will thought) with scepticism, then softened as they alit on Elizabeth, whose face had taken on a guileless and earnest expression Will, even though he knew better, found more than convincing.

Apparently, the Lieutenant did as well.

"Yes, well … a noble sentiment, to be sure," he admitted, sounding somewhat chastened, though his eyes retained their sharpness. "And one to be commended, as _all _acts of charity must. Nevertheless, we can't have you wandering out here, alone, in the middle of the night. I'm afraid I must insist that you allow me the privilege of escorting you home, and I will make sure you are delivered safely to your doorstep, and into your father's care."

"Oh, but we're not alone…" Elizabeth began, turning to introduce their escort…

But the road behind them was empty, save for the pale shafts of Christmas moonlight.

Captain John Smith had vanished into the night.

* * *

_**A/N **- Remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-)_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Christmas Stranger**  
by Luvvycat

* * *

**- Part Six -**

For the second time that night, Will found himself skulking in the foliage beneath Elizabeth's window, anxiously waiting for the light to come up in her room.

He let his mind wander back a few hours, to when they'd first returned to the house…

* * *

Lieutenant Norrington briskly escorted them into the reception hall of the Governor's mansion, deserted now save for the tousle-haired manservant who had responded to the Lieutenant's knock, and a bevy of housemaids who flitted here and there like silent shadows, toiling deep into the night to make the house impeccable for yet more Yuletide festivities on the morrow. The doors to both front parlours, the dining room, and the library were still thrown wide open, as they had been earlier to accommodate the flow of holiday guests, though the terrace doors that had previously stood open were now shut against the cooling Caribbean night.

Darting a quick, furtive look at Norrington's back, Elizabeth said, in the polite, impersonal voice she customarily used with the other household staff, but never had with him, "Thank you, Will. You've been a tremendous help. You may go now…"

"Not so fast!" the commanding voice, backed up by an imperious green-eyed gaze, froze the pair in their tracks. "I'm sure the Governor will insist on a full accounting—from _both_ of you—regarding your whereabouts and activities tonight."

As he turned back to the manservant, requesting that he advise the Governor that Lieutenant Norrington was respectfully seeking immediate audience, Will felt a touch upon his hand, and turned to see Elizabeth regarding him with wide, tragic eyes, face a study in dismay. "I'm so sorry, Will, for drawing you into this," she whispered so Norrington wouldn't hear. "It's all my fault."

Taking her hand, he squeezed it and tried to smile encouragement, though his own guts were twisted into knots at the prospect of having to face Governor Swann. "I'm as much to blame as you are. After all, I was a willing participant. In fact…" he murmured, his voice warming at the memory of her, earlier, in his arms, "I wouldn't have missed it, for the world!"

* * *

Clearly roused from a bed to which he had only just retired, the Governor—bleary-eyed, bereft of wig, and tying a heavy brocade dressing-gown around his fine silk nightshirt—received them in the private sitting room adjacent to his bedchambers.

"Lieutenant?" Weatherby said, in a voice tinged with confusion and thinly-veiled annoyance. "I trust you have a very good reason for disturbing my rest at this ungodly hour…"

"My apologies, Governor, but the matter _is_ of some importance, and involves a subject near and dear to your heart. You see, as I was making my way home tonight, I found in the road something of great value which belongs to you, and thought you might appreciate the safe and expeditious return of same."

He turned and beckoned to Will and Elizabeth, who exchanged one last look of trepidation before reluctantly stepping into the room.

The door shut behind them, ensuring privacy from the household's prying eyes and curious ears. As Weatherby's gaze took in the dishevelled pair standing before him—their hair loose and mussed, shoes and clothing smirched with mud and road dust—the scales of sleep fell with an almost audible clatter from his eyes, which widened in alarm as they touched upon the red-stained bandage on Will's hand … the slash and traces of blood on his daughter's cape and skirts.

"Elizabeth! Dear god!" he exclaimed, voice rising an octave in distress. "Would somebody please tell me what the _devil _is going on?"

* * *

While Lieutenant Norrington related his part of the tale—how he had found the two children in their present state, alone and unchaperoned by the side of the road, their only offered explanation being that they had been returning from an errand of charity in town—Swann became increasingly agitated, until he seemed on the verge of an apoplectic attack.

As Norrington's narrative concluded, Weatherby turned a red-flushed face to his daughter. "Elizabeth… what have you to say for yourself?" His forbidding gaze took in Will as well, who had been standing motionless, doffed tricorne held respectfully in hand, since entering the Governor's presence. "And you, Master Turner! What in heaven's name possessed you to remove my daughter from this house, in the dead of night, without my knowledge or permission?"

Will's first instinct was to protect Elizabeth—to throw himself upon his proverbial sword, take the entirety of the blame, and face the consequences for the both of them. However, he had barely opened his mouth when he felt a sharp kick to his foot, delivered from beneath the concealment of skirts and cloak as Elizabeth quickly interjected, beating him to the draw:

"Father, I want you to know that Will had absolutely _nothing _to do with this. The idea was entirely mine, and he only accompanied me because I _asked _him to do so." Weatherby eyed Will dubiously, clearly not convinced of his innocence. "In any case, when he saw that I was determined to carry on, with or without his escort, he reluctantly agreed to go, solely out of concern for my safety."

Governor Swann harrumphed and directed a look equal parts suspicion and ire at Will. "If the boy was so concerned for your safety, Elizabeth, then he _should _have come directly to me. Rest assured, _I _would have dissuaded you from whatever foolishness you intended to engage in."

"But, Father," Elizabeth continued, "I also consider Will to be my friend, and I his, and friends do not betray one another's confidence and trust, under _any _circumstances. _You _taught me that, when I was hardly higher than your knee…" She stepped forward and laid a hand upon the sleeve of her father's dressing-gown, smiling gently. "Recall, Father, a year ago, on the _Dauntless_, you entrusted Will's care to me? Well, tonight, he returned the favour, looking after _me_, offering his protection when I might have gone alone, without a care for my own well-being. Had he not accompanied me, I might have come to harm."

"And the tears in your clothing? The bloody bandage on his hand? What am I to make of that?"

"My own clumsiness, I'm afraid. My skirts became snagged on some brambles, and Will suffered a deep scratch on his hand freeing me. It's _his _blood on my cape and skirts. A stupid accident, I know, and completely my fault, but Will was the only one to sustain injury. He was escorting me back home, when Lieutenant Norrington came upon us…"

"I see." Weatherby's attention shifted back to Will. "Is this true, Master Turner?"

"I—" He felt another sharp kick to his foot. "Yes, sir. It is."

"Please, Father…" Elizabeth clutched at her father's sleeve again. "Will is not to blame for my own poor judgment. In fact, he tried to talk me _out _of going. I would never forgive myself if he were punished simply for minding his place, and obeying _my_ orders as Governor's daughter as well as _de facto_ lady of the house."

As the Governor gazed down into his daughter's pleading face, there was a subtle change to his expression, a softening in the lines around his eyes and mouth, but only for a moment before it returned to stony resolve. "Yes, well … in any case, _someone _must be held accountable for your misbehaviour. And, as you have apparently exonerated William by taking sole blame, it appears _you _will have to assume the sole burden of punishment as well."

"Yes, Father," Elizabeth said, sounding sufficiently chastened, but darting a quick, unhappy  
glance at Will.

"As for _you_, young man…" Swann transfixed Will with a stern look, "as fond as I, and my daughter, are of you, if you _ever _do anything like this again, I promise you, the penalty shall be severe, indeed! Do I make myself clear, Master Turner?"

"Y-yes, perfectly," Will stammered.

"Good. Now, if you and the Lieutenant would kindly leave us," he levelled an ominous gaze at Elizabeth, his tone equally formidable, "I must attend to the matter of my disobedient daughter."

As Will made a small bow of obeisance and turned to leave the room, he heard Norrington say, "Governor, if you please … before I go, might I have a word…?"

The last glimpse Will caught of Elizabeth before the door was shut in his face was her, standing before her elders like a prisoner at the dock, the picture of contrite demureness, eyes downcast, hands folded docilely before her even while the stubborn set of her jaw bespoke an innate defiance of their authority over her.

Once banished to the hall, Will hovered anxiously at the door, ear pressed to the crack, trying to hear what was transpiring within, but could make out little beside the muffled sound of voices, occasionally raised but not enough for him to discern exactly what was being said.

After a few minutes, the door suddenly swung open, and Lieutenant Norrington emerged, catching Will by surprise. Pinning him with a disapproving glare as he closed the door, firmly and pointedly, behind him, he said, brusquely, "I would advise you, Master Turner, not to compound your complicity in tonight's events by attempting to eavesdrop on a private conversation."

"But … Elizabeth?" Will started, worry making him forget the rules of propriety that prevented him—a mere servant—referring to her by her Christian name. "What's to become of her?"

"The fate of _Miss Swann_," the Lieutenant emphasised curtly, tacitly rebuking Will for his egregious breach of etiquette, "is a matter to be settled between she and her father. It is no concern of yours."

Will bridled. He'd had quite enough this night of being dismissed, disregarded, and made to feel like a non-entity in Elizabeth's life by older men. "Can I help it if I care what happens to her?" he bit out fervently, just a hair's-breadth shy of impudence.

The Lieutenant's eyes sharpened and then slitted as he studied Will, as though he were truly seeing him for the first time—a look strangely reminiscent of the one Captain Smith had given him, earlier, while debating his worth as an escort to "Bess." After a moment of scrutinising Will's face, apparently seeing something there that convinced him of the boy's earnestness, Norrington gave a nearly imperceptible nod, and his severe mien relaxed somewhat. "No more or less than _I _do, I assure you," he answered in a more moderate timbre. "A remarkable young lady, Miss Swann … possessed of a great heart as well as many other fine qualities, though her youthful impulsiveness clearly tends to cloud her better judgment—a common failing of the young, I'm afraid," he said dryly, making it obvious that he included Will in that assessment as well.

"Now, might I recommend that you remove yourself from the hallway to the long-forsaken haven of your own bed? I'd wager both you and Miss Swann have had quite an…" his gaze flicked to Will's bandaged hand, "… _eventful _night." He started to turn away, then hesitated. "Oh… and before you go to your slumber, you might have someone see to _that _first," he nodded to the bloodied serviette. "Wouldn't want infection to set in, now would we?"

Will's eyes rested on the spot on the linen where he could swear he could still see the impression of lip-prints, and smiled to himself. "No need to worry, sir. It's already been taken care of."

"If you say so," Norrington said, with a trace of scepticism. As Will passed the Lieutenant, the cool voice followed after him, "And do try to stay out of trouble henceforth, Master Turner. I trust you don't want to give the Governor any additional cause to discharge you from his service?"

Will paused at the top of the staircase, but didn't turn around. "No, sir."

Footsteps approached, and then Norrington's voice came again, lower. "You _do _know, don't you, that you owe that young lady a debt of gratitude for what she just did in there, not to mention to her father for giving you a position in this household in the first place, when he could easily have had you shipped back to England a year ago and placed in the care of an orphanage."

Will spun and faced the Lieutenant, earth-brown eyes meeting, holding cool sea-green. "Believe me, I am fully aware of _exactly _how much I owe Miss Swann," he said, with feeling, "As well as you, the Governor, and the entire crew of the _Dauntless_. If not for you all, I might be mouldering at the bottom of the sea right now with those other poor souls from the _Sally Mae_, instead of celebrating another Christmas, alive and well, and well taken care of by generous and caring people like the Swanns." Norrington opened his mouth as though to interject, but Will hastened on, determined to finish before he lost his nerve. "Also believe that it's a debt I do not take lightly, nor will ever stop trying to repay—by dedicating my life to the eradication of those who brought about such wanton destruction and senseless slaughter, as well as devoting myself to do whatever necessary to ensure the happiness and well-being of she whom I consider to be my saviour."

Again that measuring look, punctuated by a small nod of the Lieutenant's bewigged head. "Lofty goals, to be sure, young man. One only hopes you get a chance to achieve them." Then he straightened, the military bearing returning as he drew himself to full height, clasping his hands behind his back, nose lifting into the air, calling to mind Elizabeth's impertinent impersonation of this very man, which had been such cause for amusement at the beginning of the evening. "That's all. You may go!"

Will touched the brim of his tricorne respectfully and turned away.

"Oh … and one last thing, Master Turner," the patrician voice sounded like a whipcrack behind him in the almost unnatural silence that now blanketed the house like a winter snow.

Will stopped in his tracks, spine stiffening. _What now?_

A pregnant pause, as the tension in the air grew to nearly unbearable levels, before Norrington's voice came again, more kindly:

"Happy Christmas."

Will relaxed, releasing a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding and, with a small, relieved smile, responded, softly, "And a Happy Christmas to you, sir."

He imagined he could feel the keen eyes watching him from the landing as he descended the stairs and crossed the tiled floor of the now-deserted (and spotlessly clean) entry hall, heading in the general direction of the servants' quarters. He knew, though, that bed would have to wait at least a little while longer this night. He could not go easily to his rest, without first knowing what Elizabeth's fate would be.

Lost in thoughts of Elizabeth, it escaped his notice that, as opposed to the arrangement earlier, the terrace doors were now open, and the library doors shut…

* * *

He came out of his reverie at the sound of his name being called.

"Pssst! Will!" a voice hissed down to him. "Are you down there?"

He looked up to see Elizabeth leaning out her window, candle in hand, its flickering flame casting her features into a thoroughly enchanting, shifting patchwork of shadow and light. Earlier, she had likened her mother to a Christmas angel, descended from Heaven. Seeing that grand lady's only child now—limned by silver moonlight, kissed by golden candleglow—he could almost believe similar seraphic origins for the daughter.

He was suddenly reminded of a passage Elizabeth had once read him from one of the volumes of Shakespeare in her father's library, about a lady standing on her balcony, whilst a young man wooed her from the garden below. At the time, it had sounded like naught but overly-romantic twaddle to him; men, after all, didn't _really _speak in flowery verse, did they? Now, though, looking up at a shimmering Elizabeth, he thought he was beginning to understand how a man might be moved to poetry…

He stepped out of the shrubs, his heart in his throat so that it took a moment for him to speak. "Yes … I'm here."

She beckoned with a gesture of her dainty hand. "Come on up!"

He scrambled as silently as he could up the trellis, and she stepped back to allow him to clamber over the sill, this time, thankfully, with nary a stumble.

One glance at her flushed face, her overly-bright eyes a-glimmer with what looked like the remains of tears, made something in his chest tighten. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Yes … nothing more than a severe dressing-down and an extended paternal lecture on the hazards that befall wilful young ladies who wander off at night without their fathers knowing."

Will was surprised, and relieved. "That's it?"

She glanced up at him, sharply. "Why? Were you hoping for a more stringent sentence for my infraction?" she asked, sardonically.

"N-No…" he stammered with a nervous laugh, and hastened to explain, "I was just afraid that, in his anger, your father's punishment might have taken a more … physical form."

Elizabeth gave a gentle smile and shook her head, her hair falling forward to sweep against her cheeks as she looked down at the carpeted floor. "Oh, no. Father's never, ever raised a hand to me, though there have been times, like this, when I've seriously tested the limits of his patience!" She sighed, and her smile vanished. "Sometimes, though, I think I would much rather have the slap, than to suffer the sting of his disapproval and disappointment."

"I really do wish you had let me take the blame…"

Her eyes snapped back up to his face. "And have Father cast you—my only friend—out into the street? Better that I suffer a whipping, than that! Besides, what I told him was no more or less than the full truth. The whole misadventure _was _entirely my fault, and I could hardly let you accept punishment for that."

"Not _entirely _your fault," he countered, even as her words warmed him with the knowledge that her regard for him went that deeply.

"In any case, he was bound to be more lenient with _me _than with _you_. I'm his _daughter_, after all. He could hardly banish _me _from my own home!" Her expression saddened again. "Though it _does _pain me to think I've been less than a perfect daughter to him. In my single-minded desire to do this thing, I never once spared a thought for how devastated Father would be, if I were hurt... or worse! I was concerned only with the consequences _I _would suffer, were I caught out! It was thoughtless, and selfish. He deserves _so _much better than me."

"Nonsense," Will said, kindly. "I'm sure he'd be the first to disagree. One can see, quite plainly, that he loves you, very much. How can he help it, after all? You are…"

_Beautiful. Wonderful. Perfect._

Her eyes rose to meet his as he paused. "I am … what?" she queried, head tilted slightly, like a curious cat's.

He shrugged, thankful for the fickle nature of candlelight that served to hide the blushes he felt heating his face. "You are … who you are: his daughter. And, despite everything that's happened, I'm sure your father considers himself quite lucky to have you." He was rewarded as the corner of her mouth twitched into a little smile at his words. "But … tell me. How _were _you able to persuade your father to clemency? He didn't seem inclined to mercy when he dismissed the Lieutenant and me."

"Oh, he wasn't! I was certain I was in for a harsh reckoning!" Her face grew reflective, with a touch of puzzlement. "Oddly enough, given his vaunted devotion to rules and regulations, it was Lieutenant Norrington who interceded on my behalf. He advised Father to take into consideration, before determining my fate, the _reason _for my breaking his curfew, which was to perform a selfless act of charity. And, as it _is _Christmas, and my intentions were pure, if misguided, ones, perhaps forgiveness rather than reprisal was the order of the day, as well as the Christian thing to do on this anniversary of Our Lord's birth.

"Once Father calmed down, we had a nice, long talk. He asked for, and I gave him, a full accounting of what we did tonight, from start to finish—" At Will's look of alarm, she hastened to explain, "—judiciously edited, of course, to omit certain incidents and … rather eccentric acquaintances that I thought it best he _not _know about. Since all turned out well in the end, I didn't see the point of needlessly burdening him with details that he would, no doubt, find extremely distressing."

"And he believed you?"

"For the most part. Father's not a fool, you know, so I'm sure he suspects I wasn't telling him the complete story. I do, however, find myself in a bit of a quandary," she said, a worried frown falling across her face. "Father noticed I was no longer wearing Mother's necklace, and I just didn't have the heart to tell him that I gave it away… to a virtual stranger, no less! So…" She bit her lip, which, Will knew, she frequently did when prevaricating. "I lied, and told him that the necklace was safe, up here in my room. But he's expecting me to return it to him in the morning, so he can lock it back up with the rest of Mother's jewels." She grimaced. "In my eagerness to make my gift to poor Captain Smith, I completely forgot that Father also has strong sentimental attachments to Mother's things—and, most especially, that necklace." She bit her lip again. "You see, she was wearing it when she married Father, so it was bound to be missed by him…"

"Oh, Elizabeth! What are you going to do when morning comes, and you fail to produce the necklace?"

She wrung her hands. "I don't know! As long as I was telling falsehoods, I should have just claimed that I lost it. He'd still be angry and disappointed in me, but better that he think it gone through an act of carelessness than of will." She balled her fist, bringing it down, sharply, against the palm of her other hand. "I could, truly, kick myself for not devising a better excuse!"

Will couldn't help smiling. "Being a poor liar is nothing to be ashamed of, Elizabeth. I hardly think it's a talent any _honest _person would care to cultivate, let alone take pride in."

She returned his smile, ruefully. "Yes, well … I'm beginning to appreciate the pitfalls of engaging in the practice. I suppose one should learn to do it well, or avoid it altogether!"

"I vote for the latter. As my mother was accustomed to saying, no good ever comes of telling lies … or keeping secrets."

Elizabeth winced, her eyes seeming to dwell for a moment on the top drawer of her dressing-table before turning on him with a somewhat guilty expression. Then she brightened. "Oh … but there _is _a silver lining to this whole ghastly affair—"

While they'd been gone, the fire in the grate had burned down to little more than embers, providing only a weak illumination. As Elizabeth bent to touch her candle-flame to the wick of the little lamp on her bedside table, something flashed creamy-white in the circle of candlelight cast upon its dark wood surface.

"What's this?" she exclaimed. Her brow furrowed prettily as she turned the lamp up to reveal two folded sheets of paper laying upon the bed-stand. She bent to examine them more closely. "They appear to be letters: one for you, and one for me!"

As she held them up, he could see that was exactly what they were: upon one was scrawled in elegant but rather spidery script the name "Bess", the other addressed to "Walter."

Elizabeth handed Will the one that bore his pseudonym, along with her candle so he could read it, while she unfolded and began to scan the other, her glance going immediately to the bottom of the letter. Her eyebrows flew up. "As I suspected! They're from Captain Smith! But… how did they get here? And when did he have a chance to write these? We were with him practically the entire time, up until he took leave of us."

"Perhaps that's why he was gone so long at the tavern…" Will posited.

"No … look, the ink's still rather fresh," she smudged it with her forefinger, then held it up, her fingertip coming away black. "These had to have been written within the past hour!" Narrowing her eyes, she held the paper up so that it was backlit by the lamp. "And see here … this watermark? This is my father's stationery! I'd know it anywhere!"

She looked up, and their eyes met, filling with apprehension, as they came to the same conclusion at the same time: Captain Smith had been here, under this very roof—in this very room, in fact—quite recently … had written and delivered these letters himself!

Will unfolded his, and began to read:

_Walter the Stalwart (Daring Defender of fair Damsels in Distress):_

_It was a pleasure making your acquaintance tonight (though one might wish the circumstances had been rather different, and decidedly less dire). I can see that you're a winning lad, with a no doubt bright future (should you survive your stripling years), but for a boy your age, on the cusp of manhood, to be yet so green as to the ways of the world, does not bode well for your living long enough to attain, let alone enjoy the fruits of, said manhood. Suffice to say that I have learned, through hard experience, that many qualities others regard as virtues are, though admirable attributes, not particularly conducive to personal happiness, continued well-being, or long life. Rules, as it were (like Laws and Commandments), are seldom hard and fast, and are frequently broken, so a bit of creative interpretation needs to be applied. Indeed, one of the greatest joys of life is in the finding of the loopholes, and slipping through them..._

_If I may be so bold as to foist some additional unsolicited counsel upon you, based on me extensive experience of the world and particularly of the female creature: delightful (and, on rather special and quite personally urgent occasions, delightfully useful) as they may be, make no mistake, women are Trouble, and your Bess (despite her tender years) is no exception. Mark me words, unless I misread the signs (and I rarely do), she's like to grow into the kind of beauty what draws men into her orbit only to merrily send them on to early graves. From tonight's events, I can see plain as the (at present, sore and somewhat skewed) nose on me face, that Trouble follows in her wake like an eager pup nipping at her heels. Steer clear of those shoals, mate, if you know what's good for you!_

_However, if you're inclined to disregard me pearls of wisdom, and decide to stay your course as guardian to your lovely miss (who I am thoroughly convinced is NOT your sister, despite your protestations otherwise), I would advise that you acquire a weapon as soon as possible, and apply yourself diligently to the mastery of it. In any case, proficiency in sword or pistol will stand you in good stead as you go through life, for most men are untrustworthy sods, apt to stab a man in the back, (or, even more painfully, in the front), so it's best to be able to defend said back (or front) as need demands._

Will silently resolved to do just that. He never again wanted to rely on strangers, and Fate's intervention, to keep Elizabeth safe.

He continued reading:

_My unbounded gratitude goes to you both for your charity tonight … as well as for (at the very moment I write this) causing such prolonged and effective distraction to enable Yours Truly to put into literal practise that invaluable lesson what the Good Book teaches us: "The Lord helps those who help themselves."_

_Best Wishes for a long and happy life, bereft of Troubles, Rules, and Pirates…_

_Yr. Obt. Srvt.,_

_C.J.S._

_P.S. — By the by, Miss Bess was correct in her advice not to judge all pirates too harshly. In truth, I knew a pirate once who was a good man, devoted to his wife and son, and loved them so much that he stood by and let a good mate go to almost certain death, for desperate fear of being parted from them forever. Though the bonds forged by friendship can be strong ones (but must always be suspect: see my above observation re: the nature of man), they are nothing to bonds of blood, olove._

When each had finished reading their own letter, they exchanged curious glances, and then pages, allowing the other to read what they just had.

Will read:

_My Sweet "Bess" —_

_I am returning that which you so generously bestowed upon me tonight. Though you are correct that your treasured trinket would pay handsomely for a ship of humble means—and, no doubt, a meaner, humbler crew—I believe it more rightfully belongs where it would serve an even higher purpose, and where your dear departed mother intended it to be: round your pretty throat, keeping memories of her alive. I am shamed to say it has been many a year since I looked in on me own mum, but I know meself that a mother's love is a precious thing, and tokens of that warm affection are not, nor should be, given away lightly, especially to the likes of me. If it were merely gems and gold you were gifting me, I'd not hesitate to accept them, for I know better than most their worth (at least in your more illegitimate markets) and would be a fool to turn them away, but the wealth of stolen memories that accompany them is too dear a burden for me to assume, and too high a price for a tender-hearted lass like you to pay to redeem such an unworthy beneficiary._

At this point, Elizabeth, reading "Walter's" letter, made a small sound of outrage, and he looked up to see her scowling, a petulant moue upon her rosy lips. "Trouble, am I?" she exclaimed. "The nerve of the man!"

Will only smiled at her outburst, then read on:

_Fear not that I will forsake my quest, and your highness' imperious command, to take back what's mine (though my fair lady of the seas was, in the day, a Wicked Wench indeed, she is nevertheless the priceless Pearl of me heart, and I will not rest until she is back where she belongs—beneath her devoted lord's worshipful feet, and under the gentle mastery of his loving hands). Your tales of valorous pirates have inspired me to abandon my current rudderless pursuits and to pull meself up by me Bootstraps. Indeed, you have reminded me of a man I once used to know, and whose acquaintance I haven't made for quite some time—a man I faced each day in me mirror, before he became lost somewhere between the shoals of despair and despondency, and the dregs dwelling in the depths of a bottomless bottle of rum (though, in truth, I find the idea of a bottomless bottle of rum quite a splendid notion, and one I shall no doubt contemplate at great length in days to come)._

_Your Captain Sparrow sounds to be a very wise, dashing, clever, and strikingly handsome man, and I shall strive to emulate him as best I can. Indeed, I will so fully assimilate him into me own being that one would think he and I are the self-same person._

_Mayhap, when that day comes when my sweet lady of the seas and I are reunited, I shall return and take you and your bosom friend Walter for a sail on my beautiful ship. In any case, I shall never forget the kindness, and the gift of hope, you have granted me this Yuletide night. You have made a new man of me—or, rather, resurrected the one I once was._

_With fondest felicitations of the season,_

_Yr. Most Hmbl. & Obt. Srvt.,_

_C.J.S._

_P.S. — The servants may find, upon their next inventory of the household goods, that a few small though rather costly trifles have inexplicably gone missing. My apologies for that, as well as making free of your trust and good graces, but as I'm shipping out immediately, and my return of your much-beloved bauble leaves me in much the same pecuniary straits as when the night began—or mayhap somewhat less, given the loss of a bit of personal gold I suffered somewhere between tavern and pigsty, dislodged by way of a rather vigorous application of a fist to me mouth—I hope you will consider fair exchange the swap of one item of deeply personal sentiment for a sackful of ones considerably less dear to you. Indeed, you may find the décor somewhat improved by the removal of such flagrant and vulgar objects of ostentation. Be comforted that any gains I make from the bartering of such ill-gotten gewgaws will go to an eminently worthy cause, and help in the execution of your command for me to recover me lost ship._

"See!" Will cried, in satisfaction. "I _knew _he couldn't be trusted! The man's nothing but a common thief!" As he came to the bottom of the page, he frowned and looked up into eyes every bit as confused as he knew his own must be. "But … I don't understand. He _didn't_ return the necklace!"

Elizabeth's eyes sharpened. "Look!" she exclaimed. "There's more … on the back!"

Will turned the letter over, and read aloud:

_P.P.S. — If this note makes not a smidgen of sense to you, might I recommend you check the pocket of your cloak…_

The cape lay discarded across the foot of the bed, where Elizabeth had flung it upon returning from her Grand Inquisition with her father. She now retrieved it, and dipped her hand into first one pocket, then the other…

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in surprise. Drawing her hand out, she unfurled her fist, where something lay nestled in her open palm, sparking and twinkling in the candlelight.

Her mother's necklace!

Elizabeth, stunned, let the cape fall unheeded to the floor as she sat down heavily on the bed, running a finger disbelievingly across the beloved jewel she clearly never expected to see again. "Oh, Will!" When she looked back up at him, her face was bright, her eyes aglow with happiness. "This is truly a Christmas miracle! God bless Captain Smith!"

Will snorted, not inclined to be as charitably disposed toward the trickster-y Captain. "The man is no saint, Elizabeth! He may have done a generous and honourable thing by returning the necklace to you, but by his own admission," he held up the letter, "he's made off with half the household goods!"

Elizabeth pouted. "You exaggerate, of course. And the Captain is right—we have so much here, I'm sure a few items won't even be missed, or will simply be thought to have been misplaced. It _does _happen…"

"And what if it _is _noticed, and some poor, innocent servant is blamed?"

Elizabeth dismissed his concerns with a blithe wave of her hand. "If and when that occurs, I'm sure I'll think of something. Besides, from the servants' talk, some members of Port Royal society—most of whom attended Father's ball tonight—are notoriously light-fingered! I hear that Mrs Abernathy can't be trusted around anyone's best silver! But, as nobody wants to be the one to bring scandal and disgrace to a member of one of the most prominent families in Port Royal, the pilfering goes ignored, and the whole matter gets swept under the carpet."

Of course, Will had heard such things in the servants' quarters himself, but hardly thought that Elizabeth would concern herself with idle talk! He supposed that new maid, Estrella, who, at sixteen, was only a few years older than Elizabeth, had been the one to tell her, as she appeared to revel in the spreading of gossip. But he had thought Elizabeth above such tawdry pursuits.

Then again, how could he find any fault with her, when her angel's face was awash with delight, her mother's necklace safely returned, and a reckoning with her father avoided? After all, he himself had been no exemplar of honesty or integrity tonight: he'd been prepared to lie through his teeth to her father and Norrington to save her from censure, not to mention all the other little white lies he'd told that night to Captain Smith to mask their true identities, so he was hardly in a position to pass judgment!

(Of course, those untruths may have all been for naught if the Captain had followed them and discovered whose house this was, and by inference who—and what—"Bess" must be.)

"In any case," Elizabeth added with a sigh, reclaiming both letters, "I doubt we'll ever see Captain John Smith again. He's likely setting sail even as we speak, so it's quite pointless to tell Father now." She stepped over to the fireplace, and tossed the letters onto the grate, watching as the embers sprang back into fiery life, and the letters were quickly consumed by the crackling flames.

Will frowned, suddenly overcome with misery, seeing his own opportunities to be with Elizabeth turning to ash just like the letters in the fireplace. "Nor, I suppose, will your Father ever permit _me _to spend time with you again, after tonight. In fact, I half expect him to send me away from here..."

"Oh … but that's what I've been trying to tell you! You see, I explained to Father about our 'errand of mercy' and where I had gotten the idea for it. I told him _you _had been my source of inspiration!"

Will groaned inwardly. If there had been any chance at all of the Governor letting him stay, those hopes were now all but quashed. No father worth his salt would allow someone who had proven to be such a bad influence on his daughter to remain employed in his household!

"I really wish you hadn't done that…" Will started, his heart heading for his boots, already anticipating, and dreading, the good-byes to come.

"No… listen! I told him all about you and your mother, and how you'd share your holiday feast every year with someone less fortunate… and Father thought it a simply _marvellous _idea!—though he _did _wish that we had come to _him _in the first place with it, rather than attempt such an enterprise on our own.

"And that brings me to the most wonderful news!" She looked ready to explode, her grin stretching so impossibly wide. "Will … he wants to include your mother's tradition of the Christmas Stranger in Port Royal's annual holiday festivities, starting immediately! Even as we speak, he's sending notes round to all who attended his gala tonight, requesting them to assemble hampers of food and holiday gifts for distribution to the poor. Thanks to you, so many people who would otherwise go without will now have a lovely Christmas!"

Will's throat tightened, and he felt a telltale pinching in his nose that presaged tears. He hadn't truly wept since just aferhis mother died, but he felt on the verge of doing so now, not out of a surfeit of grief, but from an excess of happiness!

Elizabeth came up to him, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight like the gems of the treasured keepsake which now hung, back in its rightful place, around her neck, and when she spoke her voice sounded as though it was being forced past a lump in her own throat.

"If I could give you the perfect Christmas gift … the one I would _wish _for you, were it within my power to grant it … I would bring your mother back to you." She lowered her eyes a moment, and when she looked back up into his face a hint of sadness had dimmed her joy. "Alas, I know it's not possible to bring the dead back to life. But we _can _make sure your dear mother's memory and her giving spirit live on, so long as we honour her tradition in this way." She fingered the necklace with a trembling smile. "Just as my mother will always be with me, as long as I have reminders like this to keep her alive in my mind and in my heart."

Will was moved beyond words. "Elizabeth, I—I don't know what to say," he faltered. "Except thank you. I only wish I had something of equal value to give _you_…"

"Why, don't you know _already_, silly?" She slipped her small hands into his, clasping them warmly. "_You're_ my gift! Until Fate contrived for our paths to cross that day at sea, I never had a friend before. Now I do—the dearest friend I shall _ever _have!"

At this very moment, Will could have died of bliss, his heart swelling fit to bursting despite the melancholy that shared space with his elation. In a way, this was both the very best and the very worst Christmas ever for him: the first without his beloved mother, but also his first with this dear girl Elizabeth, whom he would never have met but for tragic circumstances and the capricious hand of Fate—a girl who had become his deliverance, his friend, and (God willing!) his future.

And when she lifted her face and brushed her lips across his cheek with a whispered "Happy Christmas, Will!" and allowed him to do the same to her, he knew then that he loved her, and would love her until the day he died.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"And then they made me their chief…"

Jack's tale was interrupted by a bright flutter in the periphery of his vision, quickly followed by a splash as something hit the rocky waters at the base of the cliff, with force. His head snapped around. _Eh? What in bloody hell was that?_

Before he could so much as move, a man's plaintive voice, carried upon the wind, reached them—a cry of anguish, of desperation. _"Elizabeth!"_

The name stirred something deep in Jack's memory, drawing him to his feet even as his lightning-quick mind knit the bits of information—the flutter, the splash, the cry—into a cohesive whole, bringing him to the conclusion as to what had made that splash.

Or rather, _who_ had made the splash.

_Elizabeth!_

Again, that nagging, elusive memory hovered at the back of his mind. Someone he met once, many years and countless bottles of rum ago, at one of the nadirs of his rather chequered life … a girl also named Elizabeth, or something like it (Lizzy? Betsy? Bess?) …

_Bess._ The name conjured a vague image in his mind's eye: a young girl's face, dusted with freckles, smiling up at him, pressing something into his hand, whispering words that set a renewed flame of hope flaring in his hopeless breast…

_Find your beautiful ship … win her back…_

_Promise me…_

A girl whose innocent faith had pulled him from the brink of self-destruction, set his feet back on a path of redemption, of reclamation, of purpose … whose shining eyes had looked at him and seen someone worth helping, worth _saving_…

As he stood on the _Interceptor_'s deck, watching the ripples in the water slowly die out, waiting for a sign of a bobbing head or flailing arm breaking surface to indicate a struggle for life—coming to know, with dread certainty, that there would be none—he turned to the stouter of the two redcoats flanking him. "Will you be saving her, then?"

"I can't swim!"

Jack swung his gaze to the smaller redcoat to his left, one brow raising interrogatively, but the man only shrugged helplessly and shook his head.

_Bugger!_

Navy men, bound to serve either on or around sailing ships, and therefore (inevitably) water, and _neither_ could swim? Sheer idiocy!

Jack rolled his eyes. "Pearl of the King's Navy, you are!" he said, with irony.

Jack's first, and foremost, impulse (given the fact that all those lovely soldiers from the to-do at the fort were, shortly, going to be down here, swarming the docks) was to use this distraction…

_(Elizabeth)_

…as a convenient opportunity to slip away.

But the memory of that _other _Elizabeth—that girl, Bess—was enough for his conscience to overrule his keenly-developed sense of self-preservation, taking the decision, as it were, out of his hands.

_Bugger, bugger, bugger!_

Quickly stripping himself of his effects—pistol, sword, coat, and hat—he pressed them into the arms of the the two gawking redcoats. "Do not lose these!"

Then, before his common sense could wrest back control and reject such a foolhardy course of action, he turned and dived head-first into the water…

_**

* * *

A/N **- Well, that concludes this little tale of The Christmas Stranger! I do hope everyone enjoyed it, and that you all have a very happy, healthy, and prosperous holiday season! _

_Also ... remember to give the gift of feedback to your favourite fan writer by leaving a Review! It's on every fan author's wish list! :-D_


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